The Hunt For Isolde
by Grazia D
Summary: Bond is sent to track down a rogue CIA agent, blamed for the murder of a South African president. Based on Daniel Craig's Bond.: Warning: A little violent
1. Johannesburg

_**Here's the down and dirty, not making a cent off this, I don't own the characters, so on and so forth. Please enjoy, the rating will probably change later on. Let me know what you think, as this is my first attempt at a James Bond fic. Just a little FYI, the Bond I have in mind for this story is Daniel Craig's Bond. I've had a couple questions on it, so I figured I'd let all of you know here. :)**_

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A squeeze of the trigger. The sound silenced as the bullet whizzed through the air, past the guards, past the crowd. It slammed into its intended target, unnoticed until the target spasmed, let out a last breath of air, and slumped to the pavement.

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This was when the senses were alive. Sight of the target through the lens. The sounds of her rhythmic breathing. The feel of the grooved trigger. The thick smell of ozone, warning of an afternoon shower. The Remington M24A3 was pulled securely into her shoulder, a long silencer ensuring no one would hear a sound.

She had been there for hours, watching, waiting for the opportune moment. She had spent most of that time calculating, taking in to account the wind speed and direction, the air density, inclination angle, gyroscopic drift, Coriolis effect, among many more variables. The air was thick with moisture, which would slow down the bullet, making gravity a bigger foe. The wind had picked up from the west, another forewarning of the approaching drenching. In her weapon, a .338 Lupua Magnum sat, ready in the chamber, waiting to be fired towards its destination. She would be accurate at 1600 meters, under ideal conditions, which this certainly was not. Her lowest maximum effective range would be 1300 meters, a range she was well within. She would be firing at a downward angle, not really too much of a challenge.

Her lower back ached, yearning for movement, but she remained still. She would not miss her moment. Slack. Pause. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but it did not register with her brain. She was shut off completely from the aches and pains of her body. Her only focus was on her breathing and the sight of the target in the lens.

The sight moved with the rhythm of her breathing. She could not miss. She would not miss.

The target stood. This was her time.

She found her natural resting point. She squeezed the trigger, never pull. Pulling the trigger would send the bullet off course.

The sound of the bullet leaving the chamber thundered in her ears, although it was silent to the rest of the outside world. The bullet struck right where she needed it to. Once in the heart. That's all it took. Never in the head. There was always that change the target could live. But no one could survive a bullet through the heart.

She calmly pulled the rifle from the pocket of her shoulder and began disassembling it, still laying on the hard concrete. Next to her lay its case, flipped open and ready to receive. The sound of the chaos down below floated past her ears, but she ignored it. She was still in that zone. She was focused on the little things, the sound of someone approaching her location, the gleam of light reflecting off a scope, maybe a set of binoculars. She was focusing on everything and nothing at the same time.

With the rifle secured, and the spent shell securely tucked away, she slid away from the edge of the roof before pulling herself up and making her way to the roof access a few feet away. With the rifle case clasped securely in her left hand, she strolled leisurely down the narrow stairs until she reached the bottom. She pushed open the heavy fire door with her hip, squinting against the sunlight that poured into the dark, enclosed space. After a quick scan of the area around her, she adjusted the cap covering her flaxen hair and strolled to her awaiting vehicle.

After tucking the rifle case securely in a hidden compartment of the trunk of the jet black BMW 530i, she slid into the driver's seat and double checked her credentials were still inside the glove compartment. Satisfied, she turned the key in the ignition. The finely tuned engine roared to life. She placed the vehicle on drive and pressed the gas pedal, the engine responded without any hesitation and purred like a kitten as she made her way down the boulevard.

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"Vuai Zille." James Bond studied the black and white photo as it appeared on the screen. "President of South Africa, killed yesterday in Johannesburg." The man in the photograph was powerfully built, his dark face deeply lined, showing age, but he still stood tall, with the posture of someone years younger.

"Do we know by whom?"

"Actually," M began with a slight pause. "our friends in Langley sent us this." The computer screen flickered momentarily before a new photograph appeared. The young blonde smiled back at him, her clear green eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "Andra Norreys," M explained, her voice crackling slightly over the phone. "highly trained assassin that has been with the CIA for almost a decade. She went off the radar almost a year ago after it was discovered she was a double agent, selling secrets to terrorist cells in Africa and the Middle East.

"Last contact with Agent Norreys happened on December 23rd, 2005. She gave information to her superiors about a fanatic cell in South Africa. Langley won't reveal what that information was, but they were so kind to let us know her last known location was Moscow." M added with a hint of sarcasm.

"Why doesn't Langley just take of this themselves?" James asked, studying the picture intently, memorizing every detail of her face.

"They've tried. To no avail. It seemed Ms. Norreys has dropped off the map completely. They sent out their best agents to try and locate her, but they all failed. Now, they're requesting a little outside help. I'm sending you all of Ms. Norreys' information now." she said as the icon in the lower corner of his computer flashed, informing him of a new e-mail.

"How does the CIA know Andra Norreys is behind the assassination of Vuai Zille?"

"Ms. Norreys was caught on video by an individual taping President Zille's speech in Pieter Roos Park, exiting the Johannesburg College of Education, dressed in a policeman's uniform, carrying some type of case. I sent the clip to you as well. She's caught on video for approximately three and a half seconds before disappearing out of view. The video has been analyzed and confirmed to be their rogue agent."

"Why would Norreys kill President Zille? What could possibly be in it for her?" James asked absently as he studied the biographical information sent by his superior.

"President Zille has been very outspoken against the terrorist cells in his county. More recently, twelve Muslim extremists were captured in Cape Town and a deeply imbedded terrorist cell was disabled. Since Norreys is working for the terrorists, her skills would certainly come in handy.

"Your credentials and passport will be delivered to you within the hour. All the information we have on Norreys has been sent to you. Your orders are to capture her alive and bring her back to MI6 headquarters. So we can turn her over to the CIA. If you have any questions, give me a ring."

"Yes, mum." James muttered seconds before the call ended. Leaning forward, his chin in his hands, he read through the pages sent to him by M; an excerpt from Norreys personnel file stored at Langley, Virginia, outlining passages he felt would be relevant to remember.

Andra Norreys began her life in Düsseldorf, Germany on June 15, 1974, where her father, Major Francis Norreys, was stationed while part of Her Majesty's Armed Forces. Her mother, Barbara, an American by birth, was a homemaker, committed to her three children, Lana, Adam, and Andra.

Andra excelled in school, graduating three years ahead of her class. After high school, she went on to attend Oxford University, graduating with bachelor's degrees in World Languages and Sociology. The CIA recruited her during her senior year, molding her into a highly trained super spy and assassin. She spoke five different languages, Russian, French, German, Japanese, and Farsi, making her an important asset to the CIA. Her profile stated Andra had a knack of blending into any type of crowd, a spy's most important tool. She was well-liked, confident and persuasive, able to put even the most nerve-racked soul at ease.

She excelled during training, consistently earning top scores during the academy. Her vast knowledge of guns, and her ability to shoot marksman with any weapon giving to her, sealed her spot as a top assassin. Andra Norreys was a killer who could disarm you with her charm. Something he would have to keep in the back of his mind.

The final page of the file was a list of Andra's aliases, as well as her residences for the past decade. He silently memorized the list, knowing full well the names before him would be flagged by the American government, any attempt to use them would lead to an immediate arrest, and her previous residences would be watched around the clock. Andra Norreys had nowhere to go, yet she had been able to elude the authorities for a full year. Terrorist cells have been known to have quite a vast bank account, and deep contacts in countries throughout the world. It was possible Andra was hiding within their confines.

The next email from M was the video, twenty seconds of feed. He clicked on it, muting the volume. He wanted to study it, study her. Her movements, how she walked, how she carried herself. There was a lot a person could learn by watching how another carried themselves.

The video was shaky, an obvious amateur shot he thought. The lens was swung about wildly, and James realized this must be the aftermath of the shooting. Frightened people, just blurs in the camera's eye, whizzed past the lens. The large brick building in the background was consistently in the shot. That must be the Johannesburg College of Education. James leaned forward even more, his eyes focused. There it was. He paused the video and with a few keystrokes, focused in on the fuzzy picture. A couple more stokes, the image cleared, giving the figure exiting through an exit door shape. She was dress in a uniform, a policeman's uniform, a dark uniform cap covering her head. Clutched tight in her left hand was a dark case. He studied the picture for a few more moments before resuming the video, watching as Andra Norreys disappeared out of sight. He replayed the section of tape, this time watching for any type of nonverbal communication, any quirks she had, how she walked. It was only three and a half seconds, but anything different or special about someone trained to blend into society would be useful.

Andra Norreys walked calmly out of sight, no sense of urgency noted. She stood tall, her shoulders back and her head high. There was nothing special about her. Nothing that could help James pick her out in a crowd.

A knock on his hotel room pulled him back to reality. He checked his watch, 6:45 P.M. Another knock forced him from his seat and he made his way to the door, peering warily through the peep hole. He recognized the man outside, a courier for MI6. He pulled the door open slightly, grabbing the manila folder from the man's outstretched hand. Without a word passed between the two, the door closed.

James carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. A passport registered to a Samuel Kingsley, an airline ticket leaving tomorrow morning at eight A.M., bound for Johannesburg, and a hotel room registered to Mr. Kingsley.

Amused, James set the items on his nightstand. He would be headed to South Africa tomorrow, two days after Andra Norreys would most likely have departed it. No one had any idea where she would be headed, how she was surviving, where she was staying. He would be tracking a ghost.


	2. Moscow

_**Moscow, Russia**_

A thick gust of harsh cold wind rushed down Staromonetnyy Boulevard, chilling her to the bone. Andra pulled her thick overcoat tighter against her neck and continued walking, pausing briefly in front of a brightly lit store window, pretending to admire the dresses draped across mannequins inside. She could see him in the reflection of the glass, about a hundred meters behind, pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper. He was dressed in a thick wool overcoat, dark slacks, and a wool cap pulled down tight over his dark grey hair. He walked slowly, bent over with age. She wished she could get a better look at him, see the features of his face.

With a parting, lingering gaze at the clothing in the store window, she continued walking, watching the man in the corner of her eye. A few seconds later, he tucked the newspaper under a thick arm and continued in her direction of travel.

She picked up her pace slightly, not wanting to arouse suspicion, or let the man following know she knew he was there. But, she couldn't lead him to her rendezvous point, she would have to lose him.

She did her best to blend in with the tourists and locals that mobbed the streets. Her small stature made it easier for her than most to disappear into society. Without a glance behind her, she ducked down Pyzhevskiy Street, pulling the collar of her coat up, shielding her face somewhat. He was still there, she could feel him. She was not used to being the prey, she was the hunter. Never the hunted.

She ducked in and out of groups of ruddy faced tourists, warmed with drink, and solemn locals, daring a glance back every now and then. The man was old, but agile, matching her step for step. She cursed lightly under her breath. She just needed to get to the Metro in Tret'yakovskaya, she could lose her tail there.

The crowds became much more dense as she approached the entrance of the Metro, making it easier for her to lose the mystery man. She stole a glance behind her. He was still there, as if he anticipated her strategy. She listened hard for the sound of his footfalls, weeding them from the rest. He was closer to her now, too close, his footsteps landing heavily on the cold pavement. She began to weigh her options. He was too close for her to slip into a railcar, without him being able to hop right in next to her. Then she would be trapped. If she continued walking, she could maneuver about in the streets she knew so well.

She chose to continue walking, past the Metro, away from the safety of the masses. She concentrated on the sounds of him behind her. When her pace quickened, his followed suit. When she slowed, he slowed. She would never elude him this way.

She ducked between two buildings, lengthening her stride. She weaved in and out of the tightly grouped structures, looking for a place to hide, knowing he would be right behind her.

She slipped into a darkened alley, nearly invisible to those who didn't know it existed, and hid in the shadows, reaching for her Smith and Wesson, .45 caliber ACP, complete with suppressor, she kept tucked in her waistband. She could hear the sounds of his footsteps reverberate off the buildings. They were slowly fading, no longer intense and deliberate; he was leaving. She gripped the Smith and Wesson tightly in her hand, listening closely. No, he wasn't leaving. He was still approaching, his steps light and barely audible. If she hadn't been paying attention, she would have missed that sound.

She silently released the safety, and waited. The footfalls were getting closer. She could see his shadow bouncing off the wall as he approached. When he came into view, unknowingly passing in front of the alley, she slowly pulled back the hammer of her weapon, causing the man to freeze. He was no longer slumped over; he stood tall, reaching about five foot nine.

"_Kak tibya zavoot?" _she hissed, keeping her voice low. "_Kak tibya zavoot?!_"

"Andra, don't shoot me." Her emerald eyes widened. "Please." the man slowly turned so he was facing her. She recognized him. Beneath the grey wig and makeup that made him look at least twenty years older, she still recognized him. He was her contact. The one she was supposed to meet.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked, her eyes narrowed, her pupils constricted with anger. "I almost shot you. And what are you doing following me?"

"First of all, I know you wouldn't shoot me. You would want to know who was following you and why." he answered back, a friendly smirk on his lips. Andra rolled her eyes and tucked her gun back into her waistband before re-buttoning the winter coat tight around her body.

"Why were you following me, Gabriel?" she inquired again. "And what's with the disguise? I thought I was supposed to meet you in Novokuznetskaya." Gabriel Krause smiled, the same boyish grin, unable to be masked by his disguise.

"I thought I'd mix it up a bit." he reached into his coat and pulled a large envelope from an interior pocket. "However, you are more than welcome to come back with me to Novokuznetskaya." Andra grabbed the envelope from his grasp, ignoring the suggestive tone in his voice. "Your passport, ID's and such. A temporary guise from the Agency, until you can make it back to get your things." She flipped through the passport, a German passport, her photo smiling back at her, the name Anna Koch printed neatly next to it. Inside the envelope was a German driver's license, also in the name Anna Koch, and a small stack of Euro, mixed with Rubles, paper clipped tidily together. She pocketed the items and handed the envelope back to Gabriel.

"It was a good disguise, though, huh?" Gabriel asked. "Had you fooled for a bit."

"Not even once." she shot back confidently.

"Sure. So, you heading back to Novokuznetskaya with me?" Andra smiled and shook her head, tucking a few stray golden strands behind her ear. "C'mon, there is a very delicious dinner involved and some quality time with me." he added, reaching out to grab her arm as she tried to leave the alley.

"You're still the same pushy Gabriel Krause I see."

"Ah, not 'pushy', per se…assertive I think would be the word." Andra laughed as she shook her arm loose from his grasp.

"Over-ambitious, I believe would be a better synonym. Good bye, Gabriel." She turned to go, only to be grabbed from behind by Gabriel, a strong hand clamped tightly against her mouth, making it hard for her to breathe, and impossible for her to cry out.

"I'm sorry, Andra." he whispered in her ear as he moved his arms in one quick motion, setting up to break her neck. She felt what he was doing instantly and stomped hard on his foot, causing him to yelp in pain. She reached back for her Smith and Wesson. Gabriel gave her a hard shove, forcing her to tumble to the pavement, the Smith and Wesson sliding from her grasp. He was on top of her now, pinning her down with his weight. "Don't fight me, Andra. I have my orders." His dark eyes showed no emotion, almost as if he were lifeless.

Andra reached up to his face, digging her thumbs deep into his eye sockets, until tears of blood fell. His weight shifted, and Andra attempted to slide free, reaching wildly for her weapon.

"Goddamn it! Bitch!." he cried out, grabbing a tuft of her hair and yanking hard backwards. "Accept it, Andra." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the gleam of a knife in his left hand. "I wanted to make it quick. I didn't want to hurt you."

She brought up her hand just as the knife came across her throat, slicing open the side of her arm instead. She freed a leg and kicked him hard in the stomach. With a gasp, Gabriel tumbled backward, allowing her to break free. She pulled herself to her feet and went to run for her fallen weapon, but he had recovered too quickly. He grabbed her arm and twisted violently, bringing the knife down hard on her shoulder. Andra silenced a scream as she twisted her body toward him, jamming the knife she kept in her pocket deep into his gut.

Gabriel groaned loudly and she twisted the knife deeper, feeling it sink into his body. His brown eyes stared into hers. She felt tears rim her emerald eyes, the betrayal and disbelief finally hitting her. Gabriel coughed as she pulled the knife up, hitting any vital organ she could. Blood trickled from the sides of his mouth as he grinned at her. Andra couldn't tear her eyes away from his, she wanted him to die, already. She didn't want him to suffer either, but it seemed he was holding on to the last thread of existence just to spite her.

Finally, the spark of life faded in his eyes and she let him fall, pulling the knife out as the body tumbled to the pavement. She glanced down, wincing as she noticed her overcoat was soaked with blood. Her shoulder and arm throbbed. She pulled open the overcoat to examine the wounds to her body. The arm wasn't too bad, the thick layer of fabric stopped the knife from doing more than leaving a shallow cut. Her shoulder oozed thick crimson from where Gabriel had stabbed her right under the clavicle. She would have to get to a doctor before she bled out. She quickly dug through Gabriel's pockets, stuffing his wallet and the empty envelope into her overcoat, before grabbed her gun from the pavement. She surveyed the scene quickly, making sure there wasn't anything of hers left behind. She hadn't bled on the sidewalk, so she wouldn't have to worry about that. She tucked her Smith and Wesson back into her coat and took off as quickly as she could between the buildings. She knew a place she could go. The only problem was, how was she going to get there?

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James hadn't been in Johannesburg for more than an hour before his MI6 issued cell began to vibrate inside his suit jacket pocket.

"A CIA agent was murdered not more than a few hours ago." M's voice reflected the urgency of the call. "Gabriel Krause. He was sent to track down Ms. Norreys and told his superiors he had a lead she was in Moscow. Two hours later, he was dead. Stabbed to death in a back alley."

"And it was Andra Norreys who killed him?" James asked, turning the Mercedes around, knowing he would be heading back to the airport.

"It would seem so. She's in possession of a new passport and identity, Anna Koch. So far, none of the passenger manifests on any flights leaving Moscow contains that name, or any of her other aliases."

"So, it's safe to assume, she's still in Moscow."

"At least, for now. A boarding pass to Moscow is waiting for you back at OR Tambo International."


	3. The Morning After

The flight to Moscow was long, but not without its perks. The attractive, young stewardess kept him rather entertained, in between glances through Andra Norreys' file. Her family life was rather mundane until her father's death in Paraquat, during the invasion of the Falkland Islands, in 1982. Shot down in a medic helicopter, his remains were never found. A few months later, Barbara moved her family from Germany to Alexandria, Virginia, Barbara's hometown. Not more than two weeks after arriving in the States, Barbara Norreys ran a red light in Arlington, striking an ambulance and killing the eldest sibling, Lana. Almost a year to the day later, Andra came home from school and found her mother's body, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

James found it interesting, even with the back to back tragedies early on in life, Andra's schoolwork never suffered, her participation in extra-curricular activities never faltered. Andra's life continued to flourish, even though the lives of those closest to her were being extinguished.

The CIA had conducted extensive psychological analyses on Andra shortly after recruiting her, way beyond the realm of normal background, physical, and mental examinations of regular CIA applicants. The CIA knew early on they wanted Ms. Norreys to be more than a regular agent. They wanted her for much more. They wanted to make sure she would be able to stand up to the rigorous and mentally and physically exhausting training needed to become a covert agent and Agency assassin.

And by all reports, she was one of the best of the best. Committed to the CIA and American government. She hardly seemed the type to sell out her country, especially after James noticed the recently added entry on the last page. Her brother, Adam Norreys, had been killed recently in Iraq, during the attack on Fallujah. It would seem odd for her to work with the people partly responsible for her brother's death.

"Another drink, Mr. Kingsley?" James looked up, the stewardess leaning in close, a lean hand resting on his shoulder.

"Please." James smiled, holding her gaze a little longer than he needed to, enjoying watching her blush as she hurried back to the rear of the plane.

Once she disappeared out of sight, he turned back to the printout on his lap. Andra's last mission was indeed in Moscow, what is exactly was, he didn't know. It stated the case was still classified, as were most of Andra's missions. According to the CIA, her closest contact was Gabriel Krause, a former Navy Seal and fifteen year veteran of the Agency. The same man found stabbed to death, reportedly by Andra, in a back alley just north of Red Square. Krause was one of the first agents sent out to find Ms. Norreys after she defected in 2005. He had been closer to Andra than anyone, according to her supervision, but even he was unable to track the elusive Ms. Norreys. Until this morning. He obviously caught up with her, which resulted in his death. But why would Andra return to Moscow, where she had spent so much of her time as a covert agent? It would seem obvious they would be looking for her in her old stomping grounds. And after staying in hiding for so long, why did she chose to return to Russia, of all places?

"Here you are, sir." the stewardess was back, martini in hand, a dry martini... in a deep champagne goblet... three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon-peel... Just the way he liked it.

"Thank you." He gave her another smile, in which he received a dazzling grin and a wink in return before he was left alone, once again.

James leaned back in the seat, sipping the martini thoughtfully. Andra Norreys had been the CIA's top recruit. She had eluded one of the most highly trained intelligence agencies in the world for nearly a year. Now, it was his turn to try. James smiled to himself. At least she would be a worthy opponent.

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The sun was just beginning to rise. Normally, she loved Moscow in the morning. The pre-dawn stillness, the crisp, fresh morning air. Moscow used to be her favorite place to be. It rarely reflected the despair and hopelessness felt by the rest of Russia since the fall of communism. Moscow was different. It enjoyed a daily flood of tourists, and the wealth they brought with them. Plus, it was home to some of the most beautiful architecture in the world, in Andra's opinion. Moscow had always been good to her.

She always felt secure in Moscow, which was probably why Gabriel had requested her to meet him here. She always felt secure with him, too, which was probably why whomever wanted her dead, sent him. She wanted to know desperately who gave Gabriel his 'orders'. It was almost certain he wouldn't be the only one 'they' send after they learn of his death.

The sudden sharp pain in her shoulder brought her back to reality. She stifled a gasp and rushed across the empty thoroughfare to the newly constructed row of townhouses decorated with identical fencing and flower arrangements. Andra used the last remaining seconds of darkness to rush past the tree lined driveway separating one set of town homes and climb the waist high fence protecting the neatly manicured backyard. She studied the home before approaching. There was a dim light flickering on the second floor. A television, maybe. Either it was a very early morning, or an incredibly late night.

She pounded on the back door, loud enough for the occupant of the home to hear, but quiet enough so as not to draw any attention to herself from neighbors. After a few seconds, she pounded again, this time, a little harder. She listened closely, smiling when she heard him tread down the stairs.

"_Da_, _Boodet eem?_"

"It's me." The door opened slowly and Aleksandr Madaev stood in the doorway, dressed in only a pair of boxer shorts. Solidly built and standing just over six feet, Aleksandr was an impressive sight, with close cropped dark blond hair and piercing grey eyes set deep in his head. Droplets of water rolled down his stubbled face from his still damp hair. The crisp smell in the air told her he had just gotten out of the shower.

"What happened to you?" he asked, still in Russian, his eyes fixated on the dark red stains covering her once tan overcoat.

"I need your help." she whispered pleadingly in kind, stepping into the spacious kitchen after he ushered her inside. He helped her remove her jacket and draped it over one of the three Milan dining chairs pushed tight against a solid oak dining table. He paused when he noticed her wounds, which were still fresh and continued to stain her heavy knit sweater.

"What happened, Andra?" he asked again, protectively examining the injury to her shoulder.

"I was mugged." she answered, wincing slightly when he shifted the fabric to get a better look. "In Red Square."

"Did you go to the police?" Aleksandr inquired as he reached for the bottom of her sweater and lifting it cautiously over her head, watchful of her injuries. She felt a slight shiver run through her when his hands grazed her sides. It had been too long since she had seen Aleksandr, and she wished it were under better circumstances.

"_Nyet. _Why would I?" Aleksandr stayed silent as he grabbed a dish rag from a drawer and wetted it before urging Andra to take a seat and tend to her shoulder.

"I need to take you to a hospital." Andra shook her head. "Yes." He said forcefully in English.

"No, Sasha. I can't go to a hospital."

"And if the bleeding in your shoulder doesn't stop, you'll die, Andra. You're already as white as a ghost. You've lost a lot of blood and you need to get to a hospital."

"I can't go to a hospital." she repeated, mustering her strength to sound stronger than she really felt. Aleksandr opened his mouth, as if to say something, but thought against it and shifted his gaze downward. He knew better than to ask too many questions. He knew better than to try and make Andra do anything she didn't want to do.

"_Ya nee imjejo nekakoy aneesteteek." _Aleksandr said quietly. "I don't have any anesthetic." She nodded slowly. He stared back at her for a few minutes before grabbing her wrist and leading her upstairs. "Lay down." he gently ordered, pulling her into his room and motioning to the freshly made king-sized bed centered in the middle of the impossibly clean bedroom. She obeyed. Her body was exhausted, her mind was cloudy. She could feel herself slipping into sleep the moment she laid her head on the pillow. Her soul was spent.

She could hear Aleksandr prepare himself, gathering what he needed to sew her wound shut. If she was a little less exhausted, she might care more about the blinding pain she was about to feel. If she was a little less exhausted, she'd probably listen to Aleksandr's pleas and head to a hospital. But she was to tired to try and talk her way into a hospital room with no identification, no name, and very little money on her person.

"_Zdess."_ Aleksandr appeared next to her and stuffed something into her hand. "Take these. They'll dull the pain." Andra didn't object and dutifully popped the two capsules in her mouth, downing the glass of water he handed her next. He smiled and brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead, which was now beaded with sweat. When he returned to the adjoining bathroom, she pulled the tablets from her mouth and stuffed them deep between the mattress and box spring. She would take a piece of her own advice and trust no one. One close friend had already tried to murder her today. She wouldn't let another.

"Okay." Aleksandr stared down at her, uneasy.

"It's okay." Andra said, her speech slurred as sleep tried to overcome her. "But, Sasha, I need you to do one more thing for me."

"Anything."

"I need papers. A passport, ID. Something to get me out of the country."

"How am I supposed to get that?" Aleksandr asked, busying himself with sterilizing a needle with the flame from his lighter.

"You know…" she began, her voice trailing off.

"Okay, Andra. Just relax, and I'm sorry." He stood and pressed half his body down on top of hers, to keep her still as he operated. His hand steady, he pressed the needle to her skin, tearing through quickly, yet skillfully. Beneath him, Andra cried out in pain, fighting hard to stay still. Tears streamed from her eyes as he carefully continued to repair the wound, focusing on the task at hand and shutting out the sounds of Andra's pained cries.

The pain shot through her body. Her shoulder was on fire, screaming at her. She held her breath with each prick of the skin, biting down so hard on her lower lip, the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She could hear him speaking softly to her, but she couldn't make out what was being said through the blood thundering in her ears.

Slowly, her vision clouded, the roar in her ears subsided and her mind began to shut down. _Thank God_ she thought to herself seconds before she slipped into unconsciousness.


	4. Langley

_**Langley, Virginia**_

He pulled the edge of his suit jacket sleeve back slightly, glancing impatiently at his wristwatch. A quarter to midnight. Agent Henry Logan had been waiting for nearly an hour.

He leaned back in the chair, his body sinking into the comfortable soft leather. From his position, the entire office was in sight. The Assistant Director of the NCS's office was sizable and decorated finely. Nothing had been sacrificed- from the Assistant Director's impressive desk, made from expensive wood, and glossed to a high shine, right down to the smallest of adornments. Everything in the office was impeccable and immaculate. Even the AD's desk was free from clutter, everything put in its place. The National Clandestine Services Assistant Director was known to be obsessive, and his office certainly reflected that.

The door burst open and AD Dennis Paulson walked in, barely giving Logan a glance as he made his way to his desk.

"Any news of _Isolde_?" He asked, as he began to flip through a stack of paperwork that had been piled neatly in the center of the sleek desktop. No apologies for being late. No excuses. Not that Logan believed there ever would be.

"She's in Moscow." Paulson glanced up at him, looking directly at him for the first time since entering his office, surprise flickering in his dark eyes.

"How do you know?"

"Our agent in Moscow was found murdered a little over an hour ago. Stabbed to death in a back alley near Red Square."

"What does that have to do with our missing agent?"

"Our agent in Moscow stated to me he had made contact with our missing agent, and was set to meet her in Novokuznetskaya, a neighborhood in Moscow. I gave him orders to fix the problem on sight. How he ended up in Red Square is beyond me." Paulson nodded and leaned back in his chair, allowing the new information to slowly sink in.

"The Director has decided to bring our friends into this." he began slowly. "They have sent their best agent to track her down and bring her to their headquarters, where she will then be turned over to us."

"This really isn't a spill for an outside agency to clean. Norreys is our responsibility and I assure you, one of my men will get close enough to her." Paulson shook his head, his attention once again focused on the paperwork in front of him.

"Any agent who will be able to get close enough to Norreys will be recognized immediately by her. The Director felt it was necessary to bring in someone she wouldn't know." It was Logan's turn to sit back dejectedly in his chair, his mind wheeling around the unforeseen report. "I will need to inform the Director of Krause's death. He will, in turn, turn it over to MI6."

"So, we don't have a lot of time." Logan muttered, reading his superior's thoughts.

"Have one of your contacts in Russia make contact with this agent from MI6. Give him as much information as you can about Ms. Norreys' old stomping grounds in Moscow, the people she knew, the places she lived. Have this MI6 agent lead your men to Norreys. But make sure she doesn't live long enough to give him any information."

_**Moscow, Russia**_

James stepped through the glass doors of Moscow International Airport, greeted by a sharp gust of frigid winter air. The sun was beginning to set, nebulous through the thickening clouds that were heavy with moisture, ready to bestow Moscow with another blanket of snow.

This was the Moscow he remembered. Cold and removed. This was the New Moscow. The New Russia. A shell of its former self. Once a great superpower, able to rival great countries like his own, the New Russia was now a starving country, willing to sell off its history and pride for a little bit of money.

He stood on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep warm, waiting for the valet to show up with his rented Mercedes.

"Mr. Bond?" James turned his head quickly at the sound of his name. Behind him stood a man, standing a few inches shorter than him, cold blue eyes studying James harshly through wire rimmed glasses.

"May I help you?" James asked guardedly, eyeing the stranger warily.

"I'm a friend…from Langley." As he spoke, a Jaguar pulled into an empty spot along the curb in front of them. The valet stepped out and handed the stranger the keys, nodding his thanks as the stranger tipped him a large stack of rubles, About twelve hundred rubles worth, or about fifty US dollars. "Would you care for a ride?"

"No." James answered flatly, not caring to elaborate.

"I think it would be quite beneficial to you, seeing as we are tracking the same target." James stared back blankly, unmoved. The man paused when he noticed the look on James' face and sighed heavily. "Ms. Norreys." He opened the driver's side door wide. "Your luggage has been sent to your hotel along with your vehicle. Mercedes SLR McLaren, excellent car. So, you'll need a ride. The Baltschug Kempinski Hotel, correct?" The man disappeared from view as he slid into the driver's seat. James hesitated before choosing to slid into the dark blue Jag, sinking deep into the cool leather seat of the British export. "Good choice." The Jaguar pulled effortlessly away from the curb, accelerating smoothly as the pulled onto the highway, tires humming.

"My name is George Hollis. I work out of the National Clandestine Services, a unit within the CIA, as you probably already know." The man seated next to James continued. "It's the same unit Andra Norreys was assigned to. She was an agent-of-influence within Russia and the Middle East, working as a double agent with the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service, until her work brought her to the Middle East. She then rolled over to the Da' Irat al Mukhabarat al-Amah, Iraqi Intelligence about two years ago, where she was supposed to be working as a covert action agent." James kept his focus straight ahead as Hollis spoke. He had to admit he was a little impressed with Norreys' background. A covert action agent was a spy who was responsible for reorienting an entire nation's politics in favor of his or her country, in her case, the United States. Tough job for anyone, but according to her file, she had had great success with the Russian government.

"About a year later, Norreys dropped off the map completely, and our superiors believed she had turned. And all reports we had received from the Middle East supported that belief. So, her handler, Gabriel Krause, was tasked with finding her. It seemed he did." Hollis added somberly as the Jag purred along the roadway, taking the exit toward James' hotel.

"If you look in the glove box, Agent Bond, there's a list of Ms. Norreys' known associates and residences she kept during her time here in Moscow."

"I already have a list." James answered, impassively.

"Not this list." Hollis argued. "This is the real list. The Agency had no idea she'd return to Russia after killing President Zille. It didn't seem smart, but somehow, Krause convinced her to meet him here. She's now on the list to be black-flagged." Black-flagged, James thought, a little surprised. She was to be interrogated and summarily shot when apprehended. Which would now be his job.

"Why send the MI6 in to clean your mess?" James asked, snidely, finally glancing over at the wiry man next to him as the regal hotel came into view.

"Andra Norreys is smart. I'm sure you've read all her psyche profiles. She's obsessive and methodical. Her dope book is filled with confirmed hits. Never any misses. Nothing gets by Norreys. The Director decided to bring in our friends, bring in a whole new face, one Norreys wouldn't be able to recognize. She's be able to smell out any of our guys in a minute." James nodded, pushing the Jag's lustrous door open after Hollis glided to a stop in front of the Baltschug Kempinski. Before exiting, he flipped open the glove compartment, retrieving a white envelope from inside and stuffed it deep into his jacket pocket.

"Good luck." Hollis called from the driver's seat as James slammed the car door shut.


	5. The Meet

The light streaming through the windows pulled Andra out of a deep sleep. The late afternoon sun was partially blocked by the thick curtains, but still spilled into the bedroom through the break of the drapes at the sides. She groaned as she tried to sit up, the sharp pain that radiated through her entire body reminded her of the wounds suffered the night before.

Resigned to the fact she was stuck where she lay, for the time being anyway, she let her gaze wander throughout the bedroom. Aleksandr had a taste for the modern, which his bedroom certainly reflected. Every piece of furniture Aleksandr owned was imported, cost was not an issue. The Russian government paid Aleksandr Madaev well, and Aleksandr certainly put it to good use.

She remembered the first time she met him, he was an up and coming agent in the SVR, knowledgeable, cunning, and loyal to his government. He was her first target. Her job was to gather information from the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service while keeping the Russians happy and ignorant to the fact their once bitter enemy, now 'close' ally had sent in an agent to keep a close eye on the their government's dealings with other nations. Of course, the Russians 'recruited' her to feed them information on one of the world's greatest superpowers, a move the CIA had anticipated. She spent five years feeding them chickenfeed, code for fake information mixed in with real information, which had been declassified and was really no longer a threat to the United States if leaked to an enemy. Andra knew all to well the Cold War was not over, just merely lying dormant until the right time came.

It had taken some time to turn Aleksandr. He was much more loyal than she had anticipated. But it had been crucial to bring the agent over to her side. He had been groomed from the start by the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki to become the Russian version of a spymaster. And he had been groomed from the start by her to become her inside guy.

What she hadn't counted on was falling in love with him, or him falling in love with her. She knew bringing personal feelings into work made things much more dangerous, with results almost always disastrous. So, when news the Russians were working closely with the Iraqi government surfaced, she used that opportunity to shift focus, starting from the beginning with a new government, a new target, just to leave Russia and Aleksandr behind.

He mind wandered to her meeting with Gabriel. Her handler, her trusted friend, who had been sent to kill her, and nearly succeeded. The question of who wanted her dead had been weighing heavily on her mind since she had left Gabriel's body in the alley. It could be anyone, she knew, but until she was certain who it was, she was not safe. She would need to get somewhere neutral, a place she had never been, a place 'they' would never think of looking for her. Then she would have time to sit back and watch. They would make their first mistake before she would. Then she would have them.

She heard the front door open and click shut, almost silently. She laid still, listening closely. She let the breath she had been holding escape nosily from her lungs when she recognized Aleksandr's heavy footfalls moving from the hallway to the kitchen. She heard the rustling of plastic and a soft thud. He had just placed something on the counter. She heard him shrug off his heavy coat and toss it on the kitchen table, as he usually did. Aleksandr may enjoy the finer things, but her was never really known to be neat.

A few moments later, the sound of his footsteps told her he was coming up the stairs, slowly, as if he was worn completely out. The sounds stopped just outside the bedroom door before it slowly opened and Aleksandr poked his head inside, a smile lighting up his face when his gaze connected with hers.

"_Prevyet." _He said, pushing the door fully open and stepping inside.

"Hi." She answered back, unable to control the grin that spread across her face.

"How are you feeling?" Aleksandr asked as he made his way to the curtains, drawing them wide open to allow the fading sunlight to flood the room.

"I'm okay." She answered in English, eyeing him expectantly. Aleksandr noticed the look in her eye immediately and reached into his suit jacket.

"I had to work real hard to get these." He said as he took place on the edge of the bed, pressing a passport and an identification card into her palm. She flipped open the passport, wincing slightly as she moved her injured arm.

"How long have I been asleep?" Andra asked as she silently memorized the information supplied to her. Ekaterina Sergeyevna Tarasovna. Born August 3, 1977 in Leningrad, USSR.

"A day and a half." Aleksandr answered, causing Andra's head to snap up in shock.

"What? Why didn't you wake me?"

"You looked like you need the rest." Aleksandr shot back in English, his voice heavily accented. "Which you obviously did." Andra waved her hand angrily and pulled back the heavy covers, exposing the bottom half of her body. "Where are you going?"

"I need to take a shower." Andra answered, swinging her slender legs over the side of the bed. "Are there any clothes I can change into?" Aleksandr raised an eyebrow in query.

"I'll see what I can find." He stated slowly, back to his native dialect. Andra walked to the adjoining bathroom, carefully calculating each step so as to keep her balance. She was weak from the loss of blood, and empty stomach, but she would not admit that to Aleksandr. She needed a shower, then head to the airport as soon as possible. He would not let her leave if he knew just how terrible she really felt.

She quietly closed the door to the spacious bathroom behind her before shedding the T-shirt he had dressed her in after tending to her injuries. She stood in front of the mirror, leaning in close, so she could inspect her wounds. The cut to her forearm had already begun to heal, already in the proliferation stage of healing. Her shoulder looked much worse, the skin around the wound red and inflamed, which looked even more grotesque against the black stitches. Aleksandr had done well suturing her skin back together.

She took her time in the shower, enjoying the feel of the water beating against her body. She heard Aleksandr enter and leave, presumably to leave a change of clothes for her. When she finished, she wrapped herself with an oversized terry robe hung haphazardly on a hook and dug through the small pile of clothes Aleksandr had left on the counter. She smiled to herself. A pair of jeans and a sweater, her size and obviously fashioned for the women of Europe. He had to have gone shopping for her. That must have been what was in the bag Aleksandr had tossed onto the counter earlier.

She dressed and ran a comb through her hair, leaving it down to dry, as she had no other option. After tucking her new identification into her back pocket, she slowly made her way downstairs, the smell of food cooking on the stove inviting.

She paused at the last step, an uneasy feeling washing over her. It was quiet. She cursed silently, remembering her weapon was probably right where she had left it hours ago, on the kitchen counter. She gently walked back up the stairs, back to Aleksandr's bedroom. The sheets she had been lying on, specked with blood, still hadn't been changed, something she had missed when she exited the bathroom.

Reaching deep into the spacious closet, she pulled out a silver gun lock box. She kicked at the cheap padlock with her heel until the lock gave. She gripped the Walther tightly in her hand and crept back down the stairs, hearing only the sound of her heart pounding in her chest. When she made it to the bottom of the stairs, she peeked quickly around the corner, quickly processing what she saw. Sure the coast was clear, she silently walked down the hallway, the wall protecting her back. She peered into the kitchen, her stomach dropping when she noticed Aleksandr lying on his stomach, blood seeping from the back of his head. Forgetting her training, she let her guard down and leaving relative safety to kneel down next to Aleksandr's body, desperately searching for any sign of life. When she touched his neck, to check for a pulse, she noticed he was still warm. The wound, a small round bullet hole located at the base of his skull, had been at close range, the gunpowder had burned a small ring of black on his skin.

She quickly pulled herself back up, her green eyes darting around wildly. She caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye and ducked behind the caramel oak island just as she heard the sound of metal against metal, the unmistakable sound of a slide racking back as a bullet left the chamber. The window shattered behind her, raining sharp shards of glass over her. Another silenced shot smashed into the wall, an obvious suppression shot fired only to allow him to get closer to her. She tried to pinpoint his position, moving to get a better look at her attempted murderer, and maybe even a better shot.

She noticed him crouching in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room. He was searching just as hard for her, her Smith and Wesson raised and ready to fire. Pressing as close to the oak as her body would allow, she gradually brought the man in her sights, firing twice, the sound of the unsilenced rounds thundering in her ears. The rounds hit their intended target, striking the man twice in the chest. He collapsed to the ground with a soft groan. With the muzzle of Aleksandr's PPK trained on the fallen man, she approached, kicking her Smith and Wesson clear before checking for a pulse. Relieved, she found none and she quickly dug through the man's pockets, searching for any type of information. Finding only a few rubles, which she quickly pocketed, she tucked the PPK into her waistband and grabbed the Smith and Wesson.

Without a glance back, at either the would be assassin, or Aleksandr, she grabbed the jacket tossed onto the kitchen table, tossing it over the thick sweater. Grabbing the bloodied overcoat she wore the night before, she exited the townhouse, covering her face with the collar of Aleksandr's jacket. Digging deep into the pocket of the down jacket, she produced the keys to the Chrysler 300 parked in Aleksandr's driveway.

She slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, not bothering to wait for the engine to warm before racing out of the driveway.

_**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

One name had been suspiciously absent from both lists given to him by M and Hollis.

Aleksandr Ivanovich Madaev.

James had done his own digging, not one to completely trust any information given to him by others. An agent with the SVR, Madaev had been the focus of Norreys' work, and he had been her biggest successes. He had supplied the United States with incredible inside information about Russia and its government. Madaev was a valuable asset to the US, and it was all because of Andra Norreys.

Almost as soon as Hollis had dropped him off at the hotel, James was back on the road, armed with directions to Madaev's opulent townhouse. He parked the Mercedes a few houses away, killing the engine before pulling his Walther PPK from his inside pocket, reassuring himself the magazine was fully loaded. The silencer attached gave the weapon a much more dangerous feel, in James' opinion.

After securing the PPK back in his waistband, hidden from view, James pushed open the driver's side door, ready to step out into the fading sunshine.

When he noticed Madaev's front door swing open, James hastily pulled his body back into the Mercedes, quickly pulling the door shut. He watched a slender body exit, an oversized jacket wrapped around his body, the collar pulled up to shield his face. James watched him walk quickly but calmly to the silver Chrysler parked in the driveway. A strong gust of winter wind blew long strands of gold out from underneath the collar. His heart began to beat faster in his chest. It was Andra Norreys.

He started the car, the engine roaring to life as the Chrysler pulled out of the driveway. He wait for a few moments before following. James smiled to himself. This was almost too easy.


	6. Izmailovo Park

He followed her through the narrow Moscow streets, keeping just enough distance between them, so as not to alert her of her tail. She was heading to the east, driving just fast enough to tell him she was in a rush, but not enough to warrant suspicion.

He allowed the Chrysler to peel off the roadway, into Izmailovo Park. James steered the Mercedes straight ahead, navigating the familiar streets until he arrived back at the entrance to the park, where Andra had turned off. He decided to enter on foot, not wanting to create any extra notice that might tip off Andra she had been followed.

The Chrysler was parked about two hundred meters from the entrance, abandoned off the roadway and well hidden, at least to the untrained eye. James snuck along the tree line, using the lengthening shadows as concealment, unsure why Andra had driven to the childhood haunt of Peter the Great, and where she had run off to.

His blood ran cold when he heard the unique sound of the safety clicking off behind him. He stood still, keeping his arms down at his sides, his head held high.

"Who the hell are you?" The voice behind him was softer than he imagined, but not without an underlying trace of iciness.

"The name's Bond. James Bond." He answered calmly. "And you must be Ms. Norreys." He carefully turned so he was facing her, a disarming smile on his lips. The blonde standing rigidly in front of him looked much different in person. Her honey blonde hair framed her soft face with loose waves, tumbling just past her shoulders. In the last traces of sunlight, he could see her eyes were a much sharper green, the right one laced with thin streaks of brown, something not depicted in her file photo. It was possible she wore colored contacts to keep that distinctive physical trait from being noticed. After all, a good spy blended in with the crowd; he or she was not one to stand out or be recognizable.

"Well, Mr. Bond, James Bond, what are you doing following me?" she asked snidely, the barrel of the PPK aimed steadily at his chest. No silencer, he noticed. Which meant she would not deploy in it an open area and bring any kind of attention to herself.

"I've been tasked with finding you and bringing you to London."

"I'd imagine that'd be quite hard to do, considering I'm the one with the gun pointed at your chest."

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" James quipped. Andra raised an eyebrow.

"MI6?" she asked. James nodded. "Tell me, Mr. Bond, why has MI6 been tasked with finding me and taking me to London? And by whom?" James' eyes narrowed suspiciously as he studied her intently, trying to get a good read on the renegade spy.

"Your Agency has requested the help of my Agency. It seems you have been an incredibly elusive subject for some time." Andra's eyes blinked in surprise.

"My Agency? Why?"

"You killed President Zille." James shot back matter-of-factly. "And I'm quite certain your superiors aren't too fond of you working closely with terrorists." The barrel of the Walther wavered slightly, the shock Andra felt evident by the expression on her face.

"Working with the terrorists?" She hissed. Her expression faded, her emerald eyes now stone cold. "Walk." she ordered, nodding behind him. James stared defiantly back at her for a few moments before turning around. "Hands on your head and interlace your fingers." James obeyed as he lead the way down a narrow dirt trail, heavily overgrown, forgotten over the years. They walked in silence for nearly ten minutes before she gave him the order to stop.

"Here." James turned his head slightly, grabbing the gardening trowel she held out to him with an outstretched hand. "Five meters to your right." He obeyed, stepping off the trail. "Right there. Dig." James turned to glance at her, an amused expression on his face.

"It's November. In Moscow. And you want me to dig in the frozen ground. With this." Andra flashed him a smile and nodded.

"And you need to hurry, Mr. Bond. Because I don't have all day. And neither do you." James stabbed at the ground with the tip of the trowel, the sharp edge piercing the hard ground easier than he thought. He brushed the chucks of frozen clumps of dirt away, wiping at the beads of sweat that popped up along his brow before stabbing at the earth once more.

A few inches down, the trowel bounced off something steel buried beneath the top soil, bending the tip slightly. Tossing the trowel aside, he dug the soil away from the steel lock box with his hands, pulling the container from the earth as soon as he had enough grip.

"Move." Andra ordered, pulling a Smith and Wesson .45 from the folds of the thick coat, firing a silenced round at the waterproof box. The lock dangling from the edge of the container fell to the ground, it's thud silenced by a small pile of snow. "Move over there." she said, waving the barrel of the .45 in front of her before tucking it back into the jacket. Keeping her focus squarely on James, she flipped open the lid, grabbing its contents and stuffing it into the pocket of her jacket. He watched as a fistful of passports, diplomatic and regular, wads of rubles, Euro, American dollars, and British pounds were crammed deep into the overstuffed jacket. The last item pulled was a Beretta 9mm, complete with three extra magazines.

"Planning on going somewhere?" James asked nonchalantly. Andra smirked as she stood.

"Give me your weapon." James reached into his suit and pulled the PPK from his waistband, reluctantly handing it to an awaiting Andra. Once the weapon was securely in her grasp, she tucked her PPK away and cleared the magazine from his weapon, along with the bullet in the chamber before completely field stripping his weapon and tossing the weapon into the woods. "Let's go." she ordered, her PPK once again aimed at James. When she moved to allow James to step back onto the trail, a bullet whizzed just millimeters past her ear, slamming into the trunk of a tree, bark splintering. He grabbed her and pulled her down, just as another bullet whizzed by, this time grazing James left ear slightly. Using the slight ditch on the side of the trail as cover, he pulled her along, making sure she kept her head down.

"How well do you know this park?" James asked breathlessly.

"Like the back of my hand." Andra answered, her eyes wide. "Where did you park?"

"At the entrance."

"Come on." Andra hesitated for only a moment before jumping to her feet and breaking into a full run into the woods, James close behind. Another bullet slammed into a tree as they ran past it. Together, the weaved separately in and out of the trees, making themselves a difficult target. "This way." she called out, darting left, sliding down the steed embankment on her side, cringing as she felt the stitches in her shoulder tear at her skin. James followed suit, keeping just a few steps behind as she doubled back, not once slowing down. The bullets had stopped, but they continued ahead at breakneck speed. Only when they reached the deepest part of the park did she stop, gulping greedily for air to fill her burning lungs.

"No doubt someone will be sitting on my car, as well as yours." James stated, his own lungs screaming for air. Andra nodded and motioned for him to follow her. They trudged through the line of trees, until they reached the southern most area of the park. Just beyond the trees was a small building, a ranger station he guessed, with two unmarked vehicles parked off to the side. After a quick scan of the area, Andra darted out into the open, stopping only when she reached the cars, crouching low next to the older BMW. He watched as she had the passenger door open in less than thirty seconds, waving for him to join her as she climbed inside. The engine roared to life not more than a minute later and Andra smiled smugly at him as he climbed in behind her. James gave a small laugh as she manipulated the transmission into gear.

Just as the car pulled away from its spot, a bullet shattered the back window.

"Damn it." she hissed as she pressed the pedal to the floor, the BMW bouncing along the narrow trail. James stole a glance behind him, ducking as another bullet whizzed through the car. The shooter was hanging out the passenger side window of a Jaguar, Hollis' Jaguar he quickly realized. The older engine was no match against the finely tuned engine Hollis' Jag housed.

Andra downshifted as she took a sharp right, off the path, the BMW shuddering violently against the rough terrain. The Jag followed, making the turn much easier. James watched as the area cleared as they reached a side entrance to the park. The BMW was airborne briefly as it bounced over a small ditch and onto the cracked pavement. Back on the main road, the Jag began to close in quickly. Andra shifted, cursing silently when the transmission was slow to respond.

She tried to keep distance by cutting down narrow side streets, passing slower traffic on the sidewalk. Luckily pedestrians were few and far between, not wanting to be out and about this time of year.

The Jag proved hard to shake, gliding along smoothly.

"Where are we going?" James asked, keeping one eye on the powerful vehicle behind them.

"I-don't know." Andra solemnly admitted, jetting down an alley between a row of warehouses. She turned left when the alley ended, ignoring the blare of car horns behind her as she cut them off.

"Well, at least you have a plan." Andra ignored his remark, focusing intently on the road, choosing at the last minute to enter the freeway, passing fellow drivers on the onramp, the rumble strips marking the side of the road shaking the car. The car jutted forward as the speedometer crept higher. The Jag was still behind, but not as close as before, blocked by a row of slower moving vehicles. James glanced at the speed. 130 K/h. The steering wheel shuddered in her hand, forcing her to keep an almost deathlike grip on it.

James glanced behind them. The Jag had made its way past the row of vehicles and accelerated quickly. There was no way the older BMW would outrun the brand new Jag. The Jaguar had a top speed of 245 K/h. Much faster than what they were in.

Andra knew that, too. She watched the Jag close in, waiting until he was nearly on her bumper before making her move.

"Hang on." she said, to what, she really didn't specify. She jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, cutting across the snow covered natural barrier separating the eastbound and westbound lanes. The Jaguar didn't expect the move and lagged far behind as it tried to keep up with the rapidly disappearing BMW. Andra raced across the lanes of traffic, darting in and around vehicles, grabbing the first exit ramp. The BMW growled as she pushed the vehicle to the limits, topping out at 144 K/h. She blew through the red light at the end of the ramp, turning right. She made a series of quick turns, up and down side streets, glancing every so often behind her, searching for the Jag.

Satisfied that she had lost them, she pulled into a crowded parking lot, blending in with the row of cars. The engine rumbled loudly, angry at the exhaustive workout. Andra leaned back in the cracked leather seat, turning her head slightly towards James.

"That wasn't half bad." James remarked, grinning slightly. Andra laughed and leaned forward, resting her forehead on the steering wheel.

"Thanks." she muttered. Silence filled the car for a few moments before Andra pulled her head up and turned to him, her green eyes inquisitive. "I want you to tell me everything that you know. And I want you to fill me in on what the hell is going on around here." James chuckled.

"I was just about to ask you to fill me in on what the hell is going on around here."


	7. Kozlovo

The Jaguar glided to a stop on the side of the road. Hollis' dark eyes filled with contempt as they washed over the lanky man beside him. He felt his anger boil deep inside his body, ready to explode. The agent seated next to him stared back at Hollis calmly, almost indifferently, either unaware of the senior agent's rage, or unaffected by it.

"How could you let her get away?" Hollis asked, his teeth clenched.

"Me?" the agent asked. "I'm not the one driving." Hollis chose to ignore the biting remark, and not to remind him he was the one who had had Andra Norreys' life in his hands with just a simple squeeze of the trigger, and missed. Hollis knew if he did not let Joshua Pierce's flippant words roll off his back, his rage would detonate, with dire consequences to the young agent.

Hollis reached for the cell phone he kept tucked in the center console. He really wished he did not have to make this phone call. Agent Logan would not be happy.

Logan picked up on the first ring, the tone in his voice telling Hollis he was already having a rough day, and it was still early yet back in Virginia.

"Tell me some good news." Logan muttered into the phone, his voice just barely above the soft static in the background usually present when the CIA issued satellite cell phone was used.

"I wish I could." Hollis shifted uncomfortably in the plush leather bucket seat. He could hear Logan sigh deeply on the other end; he could imagine his boss with the palm of his hand pressed against his forehead, the lines deep between his brow, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What happened? I thought she was to be terminated at her contact's place."

"She was. I don't know what happened. I sent a team to his place, but I haven't had time to check in with them yet." Hollis finished quickly. "We noticed she was on the move again, and we followed her to so park on the east side. Only that MI6 agent was there, too. He was digging something out of the ground when we stumbled upon them. Pierce had an excellent shot, I don't know how the hell he missed." Hollis added, sending another look of disdain the annoyed agent's way.

"Do you have eyes on her now?"

"Now?" Hollis repeated. "No. The envelope was left in her, or rather, her contact's car. Along with the tracker." He could hear the sound of Logan's fist pound his desk in disgust and another heavy sigh.

"What about Krause? What was left on him after his encounter with Norreys?"

"Nothing. She took everything that could have been used to identify him." There was a long pause. Hollis tapped at the steering wheel nervously, listening for any sounds on the other end of the phone call.

"She's heading north, away from Moscow." Logan finally said, a little more than pleased with himself.

"What? How do you know?"

"Who does she know north of Moscow?" Logan pressed, ignoring his question.

"I- don't know." Another pause.

"Krause had a tracker on his person when he died. In his wallet, more specifically. It's safe to assume Norreys is still in possession of it. Which is how I know she's heading north, out of Moscow." Logan explained smugly. Hollis smiled. "I'll send you a link to her GPS signals, so you can follow her." The line went dead. Hollis pulled the cell from his ear and waited, staring intently at the screen.

"What's going on?" Pierce asked beside him, leaning over to get a look at what Hollis found so important. The screen blinked and a scaled road map appeared on screen, a tiny green dot blinking slowly as it crept across the background. He zoomed in on the dot. According to the numbers flashing at him from the left hand corner, they were nearly 32 kilometers ahead of them, heading north on M10.

Hollis smiled as he put the Jaguar back in gear. They were back in the game.

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James stole a glance sideways at Andra as she dug into the deep pockets of the oversized jacket she still had wrapped tight around her body. She dumped the fistfuls of currency, passports, and finally, a thick leather wallet onto her lap. She pushed a few stands of hair away from her eyes as she began to neatly pile the paper money together, mixing the US, Euro, and Russian currency together before tucking the neatly folded money into her front jeans pocket.

She noticed him looking at her, and brought her gaze up to meet his, an eyebrow raised. "What?" she asked. James just smiled at her and turned his attention back to driving, navigating the massive H1 around slower traffic.

"You're bleeding." she said dismissively, bringing a slender hand up to his ear, lightly grazing the wound he had suffered in the park. James flinched at the touch as it sent a shiver of pain down the side of his neck.

"That hurt. Did you have to touch it?" he asked, glancing at her, obviously irritated.

"I wanted to see how bad it was." Andra justified, leaning back her seat. "Which it's really not, so it shouldn't have hurt that bad." She carefully opened the leather wallet, digging through the credit cards and pieces of identification, pulling each item out and carefully examining it before laying it on the dash.

"That's obviously not you." James quipped, catching a glimpse of an older man, staring blankly from the photo on a Russian driver's license.

"Brilliant deduction, Mr. Bond." Andra shot back, leaving out the expected snide tone. As soon as the wallet was emptied, she tossed studied the wallet closely, running her fingers over the embroidered leather and into the pockets. "So, I gather it's safe to presume those men back there were not your friends." Andra muttered, still focused on the wallet clenched in her hands.

"No, but they happened to be friends of yours." James answered, keeping his focus on the road in front of him.

"I think you're mistaken. They certainly weren't friends of mine." Satisfied with her inspection of the wallet, Andra grabbed the items from the dash and replaced them one by one.

"That Jaguar belongs to an agent with the CIA. I know, because I met him earlier today. He gave me a rather quick run down on you and your work." Andra stayed silent, focusing on the task at hand until each item was back in the wallet.

"I was ordered to terminated President Zille by my agency." She began, tossing the wallet into the glove compartment.

"Your agency." James said slowly. Andra nodded.

"Terrorist cells were being given free reign in South Africa to plot acts against the United States and our allies by Zille. We needed him unseated in the next election, but Zille was incredibly popular, especially with his 'supposed' tough on terrorism stance. There was no other way." Andra leaned her head back on the seat. "I don't know what you were told, but I'm sure it was all a lie."

"I was told you went off their radar nearly a year ago after you began working with the Iraqi government. We were told you've been on the run and you killed President Zille because he was interested in extinguishing all the terrorist cells in his country." James turned slightly, letting his narrowed eyes focus on her face, trying to tell if she was honest with him, or playing him for a fool. After all, she was a spy. She made her career by lying. And by all accounts, she was good at it.

When he turned back to the dense traffic, he felt her do the same, for possibly the same reasons.

"Get off at the next exit." she ordered quietly. James silently obeyed, peeling the Hummer from the sea of vehicles. The exit led to a muddied unmarked road, deep grooves from tires before him crisscrossed the terrain and despite the harsh chill, leaving small pools of murky water collecting in the tracks. Now he knew why she passed up speed for ruggedness when she had scoured the parking lot in search for a new car after ditching the tired BMW. "Left." she said before he reached the end of the exit ramp, her voice barely audible.

"Where are we going?" James asked as the H1 bounced along the roadway, its tires digging into the soft mud, pushing through nearly effortlessly. Andra once again stayed silent, wincing as she shrugged the jacket from her shoulders. The dark stain on her cream colored sweater caught his eye, recognizing it immediately as blood. "What happened? Were you hit?" He asked, allowing a hint of compassion to creep into his voice.

"No." Andra pulled the collar of the sweater away from her body, peering between the fabric and skin, a grimace spreading across her face. "God." she breathed, allowing the collar to snap back softly against her neck. "Next turn, make a right." The rest of the ride was silent, aside from Andra's one word directions every so often.

Night had enveloped the country, surrounding the SUV. A thick cloud cover had rolled in before the last bit of sunlight had vanished, and now the area around them was pitch black, save for the dim glow of the headlights. The H1 shuddered ferociously as James navigated through a row of deep crevasses, left behind by a vehicle much larger than they currently rode in. Next to him, he heard a sharp breath made through clenched teeth. Remembering the wound Andra was suffering, he steered closer to the edge of the road and away from most of the ruts.

The rows of heavy trees that had lined the road since they left the highway began to thicken, encompassing them in darkness more so, if that were even possible. A few kilometers later, the tree line suddenly broke and they were met with a flood of light, blinding James temporarily. He slowed the SUV to a stop, raising an arm to shield him from the light that spilled into the vehicle. He heard a weak 'come on', as Andra slid from the passenger seat, slamming the door shut loudly behind her.

James followed her through the mud-covered terrain, now frozen and hard as a rock, suddenly wishing he was dress in something other than his suit and dress shoes. The temperature had dipped nearly twenty degrees, cutting through James and chilling him to the bone.

The blinding floodlights clicked off, replaced by a dim glow, illuminating the farmhouse in front of them that had been shielded by the blockade of illumination before.

"Andra!" An Oxford-accented voice called from the doorway, still hidden from view.

"Reyhan." As they approached, the man stepped onto the porch, slinging the AR15 over his shoulder. The man stood nearly as tall as James, his body thin and sinewy, dressed in a heavy down jacket, left unzipped, exposing a dark green sweater, jeans and work boots. His dark hair was streaked with grey, worn long and pulled back into a tight ponytail. A weeks' worth of growth covered his strong chin and thin glasses framed dark eyes that warmly searched Andra's face.

She smiled wide, flashing a row of perfect teeth. She said something to him in Russian as James stood back, eyeing the new man warily. He returned a comment in kind and turned, motioning for them to follow him back inside the two story home. A low growl rumbled in the throat of an angry looking Doberman as Andra and James followed the man Andra had called Reyhan into the house. A curt nod from its owner silenced the Doberman, but remained on guard.

"Sima alerted me to your presence long before you made it to the clearing." Reyhan said over his shoulder as he led them into the kitchen, flipping on the light as the entered.

"I'm sure." James muttered, catching a glimpse of the Doberman in his peripheral as the canine slinked along the wall, keeping in the shadows, its glassy eyes fixated on the visitors.

"So, Andra," Reyhan began, grabbing the stainless steel kettle off the stove. He twisted a knob on the sink, and a flow of clear water spilled from the faucet, quickly filling the empty kettle. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"It's a long story. We just need a place to stay for the night, if that's alright?" Reyhan smiled as he put the water on to boil.

"Of course, Andra. My house, is your house."


	8. The Betrayal

She greedily finished the last of the water, setting the empty glass on the edge of the counter before shedding her sweater, damp with sweat and streaked with earth. She gingerly moved the left strap of her undershirt aside so she could get a better look at the lesion on her shoulder. The sutures binding the edge of the wound had snapped, causing the skin to tear more. Dried blood surrounded the wound, which was red and inflamed. Her jaunt through Izmailovo Park certainly hadn't done wonders for the healing process.

She cleaned the injury with a cloth Reyhan had given her, in her mind, replaying the events that had led her to this point. Krause, her flight to Aleksandr's, which led to her near assassination and his death, her escape from what were supposed CIA agents with sights set on her. And the mysterious MI6 agent, who had orders to black-list her, but instead, helped her escape from certain death.

A sharp rap on the bathroom door pulled her from her thoughts. She let the cloth fall into the sink and pulled the door open just wide enough to peer out.

"Mr. Bond." she greeted sharply.

"I figured you would be needed this." he stated, showing her the fresh packet of gauze he had gripped tightly in his hand. A low growl forced her gaze downward, the quick movement upsetting the sleek Doberman, whose eyes were fixated solely on James. "Apparently, this is my new bodyguard." She smiled slightly.

"Sima's not too fond of visitors." She held out an arm, ready to receive the packaged gauze.

"I see that." James pushed open the bathroom door just enough to allow himself to step through, allowing his azure eyes slowly run over Andra's body, lingering slightly at the wound on her shoulder. Sima settled on his hunches just outside the doorway, still focusing intently on James.

Andra stood back and silently watched James tear open the protective coating covering the dressing. His own wound had been cleaned, revealing a deep scratch along the edge of his ear. The overcoat and stylish suit jacket were gone, leaving James dressed in his black suit pants and deep blue dress shirt he had untucked and buttoned only halfway.

"So, tell me," Andra initiated, leaning a hip against the granite counter. "What possessed you to help me out there?" James caught her eye, his grin lopsided and coy.

"You're very persuasive with a Walther in your hand." James leaned in closer to her, his breath hot on the side of her neck as he ran the damp cloth she had left on the sink lightly over her shoulder. "Actually, my orders are to interrogate you before killing you, so I couldn't allow you to die before I had a chance to question you."

Andra smiled, her grin matching his, her eyebrows raised slightly. "You seem a little misguided on what role you play in this little adventure."

"Do I?" James asked, cocking an eyebrow in amusement.

"Mmm." she answered, nodding her head slightly.

"Mmm." he echoed, his eyes locking with hers. "That's too bad. I figured it'd be rather fun to interrogate you." He held her gaze for a few more seconds before turning his concentration back to her shoulder.

"So, this man, Reyhan, is a friend of yours?" James asked dismissively, carefully applying antiseptic to her angry wound. Andra winced slightly as the antiseptic buried its way into the lesion, sending a new type of pain through her body.

"He worked with my father." Andra answered. "He was recruited by MI5 a few months after leaving Her Majesty's Armed Forces. I met him nearly two years ago. He was my gateway into the Iraqi government." James listened closely as he began to dress her injury, leaning in closer than he really needed to, enjoying the crisp smell of her shampoo. Reyhan. Another name that had been left off the list.

"What is he doing out here?"

"Because according to the Russian and Iraqi governments, Reyhan is dead. In fact, Reyhan isn't his real name. It was changed after he was 'killed'. He's been living here for a year."

"Hiding in plain sight, so to speak?" James quipped. Andra smiled.

"You could say that." Silence fell between the two as James finished tending to her wound. When he was done, he stepped back and handed her the wool sweater hanging on a hook next to the shower, given to her by Reyhan to replaced the soiled one she previously wore. He felt a pang of disappointment as she slid the heavy sweater over her slender body. He always appreciated the female form, and the female spy's was certainly no exception.

"So, how exactly do you plan on surviving this?" James asked, stepping in front of the doorway when she took a step towards it. Andra's gaze ran over James, her eyes suddenly filled with disdain, annoyed at the question, as if the answer was glaringly obvious. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and produced a passport, Russian according to the writing on the cover.

"I know my aliases are flagged at this point." James nodded in agreement. After all, that's what he was told. "Tell me, is this one of them?" James grabbed the document from her grasp and flipped it open. The photo was a little older than the one he had received in M's email, her blonde hair worn long and pin straight. The look on her face was warm and inviting, her smile wide. He shifted his eyes to the name, Ekaterina Sergeyevna Tarasovna, printed in English beneath the Slavic translation.

"No." he said, handing the passport back.

"Then this is how I plan on surviving this." she waved the passport in emphasis before tucking it back into her pocket.

"Care to elaborate?"

"No." she answered, flatly.

Behind James, Sima growled once again, this time, not at either person standing before him. The Doberman's attention was focused elsewhere, his head cocked to the side, his ears perked. James and Andra exchanged a look as Sima darted into the hallway, the strangers inside the house long forgotten. Andra pushed past James and followed the excited Doberman, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Expecting someone?" James asked nonchalantly as they entered the kitchen, where the older man was busy setting the tiny round table centered in the middle of the tiny kitchen with three dinner plates.

"No." Reyhan barely gave the two a glance as they entered, ignoring the low rumblings coming from the canine posted like a sentry at the back door.

"What's wrong with Sima?" Andra asked, keeping her tone level. Reyhan shrugged, accepting her silent offer to help set the table, handing her a trio of water glasses. In the corner, Sima yipped loudly, twice, jumping to her feet and pawing enthusiastically at the wooden door.

"Sima!" Reyhan shouted, snapping two fingers once. The Doberman settled warily back on her hunches.

Andra noticed James had slipped into the living room as she and Reyhan spoke. As she eyed the wary canine, the same feeling of uneasiness she felt at Aleksandr's washed over her yet again. She had caught the troubled look in James' eyes before they had left the bathroom; she was sure he was feeling the same way. And the fact Reyhan didn't seem too concerned with Sima's warnings unnerved her even more.

She scanned the kitchen, noticing the Walther and Smith and Wesson she had left on the kitchen counter had been moved and hidden from view. The intimidating AR15 was propped against the kitchen counter, within reach of Reyhan. She suddenly felt very alone, and very vulnerable.

Reyhan seemed to sense her nervousness and turned to stare at her, his face warm and inviting, but and underlying coldness filled his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" Reyhan asked. Andra shook her head, forcing herself to keep the expression on her face as calm as possible. Reyhan glanced around the room, noticing for the first time James was not next to her. He grabbed the AR15 and lifted it to his shoulder in one quick movement, the barrel pointed ominously at the center of her chest. Andra's expression didn't change, but her emerald eyes grew cold. "Call your friend back in here." he said quietly.

"Mr. Bond." Andra called out, her eyes never leaving Reyhan's. James stepped back into the kitchen, stopping when he noticed the scene before him.

"Sima." Reyhan nodded once James' way and the Doberman leapt to his feet, his lips curled back to expose a line of jagged teeth. Another nod and Sima moved towards James, the deep growl back, much louder this time as he fixated on James.

"Normally, I would apologize, Andra." Reyhan began, the barrel unwavering. "But you're a traitor. And there's nothing really keeping me from pulling this trigger."


	9. Deceit

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_**Sorry, it's short. Promise the next one will be much longer :)**_

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As M barreled down the hallway, junior agents stumbled over one another to clear her path, not willing to get in between her and wherever her focus lay. Her features were twisted into an angry scowl, caused by a mixture of the interrupted, long overdue dinner date and the news she received in the car on the way over. Repeated attempts to contact 007 had failed over the past twelve hours. It was beginning to seem he had fallen to Andra Norreys' gun. Instead, reports from friends in Langley insinuated something else, something much worse. It seemed 007 had fallen to Andra Norreys' charm, and helped her escape from her agency, killing a CIA and SVR agent in the process.

Replaying the cell phone conversation in her mind, she grew angrier, her steps quickening. She should have known better than send Bond after a woman, a beautiful woman at that. At times she wondered what motivated him more. His duty to the Queen and country, or the smile of a pretty woman. Now, it seemed her question was answered.

She burst through the doorway leading into a room filled with technology and cluttered with agents, each of whom turned wide-eyed toward her, then quickly away when she entered, as if making eye contact with her at this point would be the equivalent of making eye contact with an angry dog. Only one agent kept his focus on her, his dark eyes wide and nervous, stepping back a few steps when she approached him.

"Where the hell is 007?" M asked angrily, her body stiff with antagonism.

"Um, we're- we're not sure." the agent answered tensely as he ran a wiry hand over his mouth. A nervous habit she found rather annoying. Especially now.

"Well, why the hell not?"

"He's…not answering his cell phone."

"I know that." M rolled her eyes. "Christ, Bond can track down a CIA agent who had eluded her agency for almost a year without any of this," she said, waving a hand toward the supercomputer blinking patiently in front of her for emphasis. "and we even have a general idea where he's at, and we still can't find him. I'd like to think we're better at keeping track of our agents than the bloody idiots over at Langley." M was fuming. Bond. He always did this to her.

"We're looking. We'll find him." Another brush of the mouth. M knew he was just saying that in hopes she would calm down.

But, she couldn't. Nor would she. She would not be made a fool of by Bond.

"We need to find him before anyone else." M said harshly, her words much more biting than she had expected. "And when you do, I want to be notified immediately."

"Of course." M turned sharply on her heel and stormed out the way she came in, barely giving any of the other agents a second glance. Her heel clicked loudly against the tile, which had been waxed to a high sheen. She turned down a airy hallway, framed by ceiling high bookshelves, stacked with literature of every type. Her office, her sanctuary, was just down the hall, lightening her mood a bit. She needed to be alone with her thoughts. She needed to sit down and piece together the past two days.

Deep down, she hoped Bond hadn't defected, choosing to side with a known traitor and enabler to terrorist cells that threatened not only Norreys' homeland, but the rest of the world as well. But, the Director of the National Clandestine Services, the most secret part of the Central Intelligence Agency, had informed her his agents in the field spotted Bond, with Norreys, leaving the house of a high ranking SVR agent. When a team had been sent in to evaluate the situation, a CIA agent, along with the SVR agent had been found, murdered, more than likely by Andra Norreys. After all, her service weapon was a Smith and Wesson 9mm, the same type of weapon used to execute Agent Aleksandr Madaev. Madaev's personal weapon, a Walther PPK, was used to shoot CIA agent Lorne Brockman twice in the chest. Both the Smith and Wesson and the Walther were missing from the scene.

M finally reached her office, closing the door silently behind her. She collapsed into her chair, the weight of the situation weighing heavily on her shoulders. The CIA wanted their rogue agent dead. They had come to the MI6 for help, a feat nearly unheard of. Now, the agent she had sent them ended up on the wrong side. She knew it would only be a matter of time before the respective governments would look at this as an international incident, needing to be rectified, immediately. She knew she would be in charge of the actions resulting from the fall-out; they would want 007 dead, as well.

She needed to find him. Before things got any worse.

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Logan sat back in his chair, a small, satisfied grin spreading across his face. The meeting with the Director had gone better than expected. Norreys had been the CIA's number one recruit. Now, she was the CIA's number one fugitive. And she probably still had no real idea why.

Norreys was good. And she had that MI6 agent under her spell as well, it seemed. At least, according to Hollis. He figured the problem would've been taken care of at Aleksandr Madaev's residence. It was a lucky break for Logan. The intel he received from a friend in the SVR; a certain agent needed a Russian passport, for a female, why would that be, he asked. The name Madaev was far from familiar, but the description of the photograph was. Blonde hair, green mismatched eyes, Logan knew without a doubt it was Norreys.

But the name of the SVR agent requesting the help from Logan's friend in the SVR threw him. At least, until the agent's file photo was sent his way. The man staring blankly back at him was Norreys' contact, the one she had turned to their side. Only he was known to the CIA as Yuri Ivanovich Nekrasov. Suddenly, it was all starting to make sense to Logan.

To the Director, too, after Logan told him what he learned over the past three days, with his own spin, of course. Yes, Brockman had been sent to eliminated the problem, Logan had told the Director. Unfortunately, Brockman made his move at the wrong time. Norreys had executed Madaev after getting what she needed and, when surprised by Brockman's entrance, killed him, too. Probably with Madaev's personal weapon to throw us off a bit, sir, Logan explained slyly.

And the Director ate it all up. Logan watched his superior's eyes narrow in anger when he explained the scene at Izmailovo Park. The MI6 agent aiding Norreys with her escape, willingly getting into a car to flee from Hollis, instead of turning her over as ordered. It was quite obvious who's side this MI6 agent was on.

Logan chuckled quietly, glancing at the clock on his desk. Soon. Soon, it would all be over. It seemed the usually auspicious Norreys couldn't get a break in her beloved Moscow. Still naively in possession of the tracker he placed on Krause before his meet with Norreys, then running to a man he was certain she thought was a friend, but had already been spoiled against her. Logan knew money talked louder than deep-rooted friendship in a desolate place like Russia, especially if that deep-rooted friendship was with a spy whose allegiances leaned toward the palpable winner.

Now, she was trapped. Within moments, Logan was certain he'd receive the phone call informing him Norreys was dead, along with her "00". Then, it would all be over.


	10. Escape

The barrel of the semi-automatic rifle was pointed ominously at the center of Andra's chest. At James' feet, Sima snarled angrily, the Doberman's focus set squarely on James. The wanted agent no longer looked surprised. She stared back at Reyhan, her eyes staring listlessly into his, the fire and anger that had been there moments before gone. Her stance was no longer squared, James noticed, she was no longer ready for a fight. She stood back, dejectedly, her arms limp at her sides. The ardent agent, who had survived numerous attempts on her life in just the past seventy-two hours, now seemed indifferent to the predicament that lay before her. As if she had given up, the will to survive no longer there.

"Who did you call?" James asked abrasively, his fists clenched tightly.

"It doesn't matter now." Reyhan hissed, his eyes never leaving Andra's.

"Who did you call?!" James repeated, louder this time, earning a menacing warning from the canine at his feet. His hand gripped the .22 caliber pistol he had tucked in his waistband, behind his back and out of view of Reyhan. Andra had never bothered to pat him down after her encounter with him at the park, either because she planned to kill him after she had him dig up the buried steel box, or she assumed he wouldn't be armed with anything other than the Walther, a deadly mistake usually made by poorly trained agents. He figured it was safe to assume she had the former planned. Until, of course, they were so rudely interrupted.

James surveyed the scene in front of him. He would have to pull the pistol at lightning speed, any furtive movement made would certainly provoke the Doberman, ensuring an attack. And even if he did manage to pull the weapon, he would need to incapacitate the dog before killing Reyhan, all before Reyhan himself pulled the trigger.

Listening closely, he could hear the rustling of the trees outside, the crunch of the snow under the weight of the approaching adversaries, a half a dozen, as far as James could tell, possibly more. He would need to make his decision. Now.

"You're making a mistake." Andra said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Reyhan didn't answer, his gaze never wavering. James watched her closely, looking for an indicator, anything that would allow him a glimpse of what was running through her mind.

Andra straightened her posture, but still remained lax, not wanting to show herself as a threat of any kind. However, Reyhan's grip on the AR15 tightened, his finger twitching against the trigger. Andra noticed. Her eyelids lowered slightly, her lips turned upwards at the edge slightly, her expression now smug. She snapped her fingers twice. The Doberman, who had been so focused of James only seconds before, settled back, the aggressive bearing gone. Reyhan's face clouded over in confusion, his attention now on the guard dog who was stretched out lazily at his feet.

"Sima!" Reyhan howled, dropping one hand from the heat guard of the AR15, allowing him to snap once. Sima looked up at his master and whined a response. Reyhan brought his gaze back up to Andra, the rifle once again gripped tightly with both hands. James used the distraction to pull the pistol from his waistband. But the fabric of his dress shirt slowed him, causing the weapon to become tangled. The movement caused Reyhan to swing the barrel of the rifle James' way. Andra kicked the rifle as Reyhan pulled the trigger, sending a bullet slamming into the wall behind James. Reyhan swung the butt of the rifle wildly as Andra lunged, striking her in the side of her head. As Andra stumbled backward, a hand clasped tightly against her temple, James freed the pistol, using the metal as added weight as he punched Reyhan in the jaw, smiling to himself when he heard a satisfying crunch.

Reyhan brought a sinewy arm up to block a further attack as James lunged again. The AR15 slipped from the older man's grasp and fell to the floor. James delivered another punch to Reyhan's head, connecting with his ear, stunning the man momentarily. James used the added seconds to his advantage, gripping the pistol tightly as he shoved the barrel of the weapon deep into Reyhan's neck to drown out any extra noise. Reyhan jerked violently, jabbing an elbow sharply into James' throat. As James' grip on the elder loosened, Reyhan reached for the twenty-two, beating James' hand against the edge of the counter. His hand slick with sweat and blood, James' grip on the pistol slackened, and the weapon slid from his hand.

With a brusque upward jab to Reyhan's nose, James succeeded in pushing Reyhan away from the two weapons. Another well place punch forced Reyhan to his knees, blood dripping into his eyes from a gash on his forehead. James kicked Reyhan hard in the back, pitching him forward before falling to his knees next to the bruised and battered man. With a thick man wrapped tightly around the skinnier man's neck, James squeezed, cutting off Reyhan's air supply. Reyhan clawed desperately at James' arm, leaving deep, bloodied scratches across his forearm. James squeezed tighter, feeling the blood coursing through Reyhan's veins, rushing in time with the quickening beat of his heart. He felt Reyhan's larynx crush and pulled his arm tighter. Reyhan's eyes bulged, the delicate capillaries bursting, making the whites around his dark pupils a sickly red. Finally, the man stopped struggling, his arms falling limp, the last of his ragged breaths taken. James released his grip, send the man crashing to the floor with a dull thud.

Beside him, Sima whimpered, drawing James' attention to the canine before pulling it quickly to his left. Andra stared back at him, her eyes not completely focused, blood trickling from the fresh wound to her temple. James walked over to her and bent down, lightly grabbing her upper arm. Andra's head jerked upward, her eyes wide, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Are you alright?" Andra nodded before turning back to the fallen man before her. "I really need you to focus right now, Andra." Andra nodded as he helped her to her feet, grabbing the AR15 from the tile floor and forcing it into her grasp.

"The bedroom." Andra said quietly, pointing down the hallway.

"Come on." James grabbed her arm and led her to the bedroom, the Doberman in tow. As she stood in the doorway, he tore the small room apart, in search of anything to help. Inside the closet, he ran his hand against the back wall. His fingers ran over a slight groove, just what he had hoped for. Digging into the groove, he pulled, tearing a small section of wall away to reveal a small weapons cache. He pulled out a Browning 9mm, and an older Walther P99 semi-automatic along with some extra ammunition. He handed the Browning to Andra, who dutifully took it into her grasp before tucking it between her waistband. After tucking the Walther into his own waistband, he pulled a British L1A1 Self Loading Rifle from the wall before standing. He tucked extra Walther magazines, filled to capacity, into the side pockets of Andra's jeans and two more AR15 magazines into Andra's waistband, next to the Browning.

"Are you ready?" James asked, grabbing her chin and tilting it upward, forcing her to look into his eyes. Her vision finally seemed to focus, and her eyes hardened.

"Yes." she answered, her lips pursed tightly together.

"Good." James loaded the rifle and made sure the Walther was loaded, an action Andra mimicked with her own weapons. "All we need to do is make it to the car."

"How do we plan on doing that?" James grinned and shrugged.

"I guess we'll just have to make it up as we go along."

"Well, at least you have a plan." Andra quipped, grinning sideways at him slyly. Andra draped the sling attached to the AR15 across her chest, and slipped silently from the bedroom as the nearly silent sound of the front door clicking shut echoed loudly throughout the house. Andra motioned for Sima to follow as she slid across the wall, dipping silently into the bathroom.

Hiding in the shadows, James watched the end of the hallway, catching the shadows as they bounced along the walls. Their footfalls echoed in his ears. He watched as one half of an identically dressed duo slipped silently down the hallway. Clad head to toe in black, the figure was hard to see, keeping concealed perfectly in the darkness. A M4 rifle was slung across the figure's chest, a Beretta 9mm strapped to his thigh. A gloved finger laid straight above the trigger. James slowly brought the Walther up, aiming at his chest, before bringing the muzzle higher, noticing when the figure stepped away from the wall, a heavy ballistics vest was wrapped around his upper body.

The figure turned toward the open bathroom door, stepping halfway through before James saw Andra's slender arm wrap around the figure's forehead, jerking back harshly and bringing him down to her level. In one quick motion, Andra brought the blade of a small pocket knife across the figure's neck. The figure disappeared from view as Andra pulled him inside the bathroom. James turned his attention to the second half of the twosome, who, after hearing the brief struggle between his partner and Andra, advanced down the hallway, an identical M4 tucked deep into his shoulder, ready to fire. James centered his sights on the second antagonist and fired once, the silenced round barely making a sound, striking the figure beneath the left eye.

James advanced down the hallway, pausing briefly to allow Andra to fall in step beside him. Rushing into the front room, he knelt down beside the large window overlooking the front yard, pulling aside the corner of the thick drapery to scan the area outside. He pushed aside the sounds of Andra rustling in the kitchen and listened hard, separating the sounds of the furnace kicking on, the second floor settling, the soft panting of the canine guarding the front door, from the sounds of the outside. The wind beating against the house, the sound of the branches bowing beneath the added weight of the freshly falling snow. No sounds of footsteps. No vehicle engines. No voices.

James narrowed his eyes as they washed over the darkness outside, focusing hard on distinct shapes in the tree line. Two more dressed in black, two more semi-automatic weapons aimed at the farmhouse.

He pushed himself away from the window and joined Andra in the kitchen. "There's two more out there." she said quietly without bothering to turn around, her eyes staring out into the backyard.

"There's two out front as well." Andra turned away from the window and leaned her back against the wall, the AR15 clutched tightly against her body.

"So, do we go outside and go to them, or do we sit in here and wait for them to come to us?"

"All we need is to make it to the car."

"Right. Simple enough." James tossed a self-assured smile her way.

"Come on, it doesn't look too hard." Andra smiled and followed him back to the living room, careful to avoid the break between the curtains.

"If you can take care of our friends in the front, I'll handle the ones in the back." James nodded and Andra rushed up the narrow staircase, her steps light and barely audible. Once upstairs, she headed for the spare bedroom Reyhan always used as a storage closet, pushing aside a small stack of boxes that concealed a small window. She pushed aside the thin curtains and unhurriedly pushed open the window, stiff from years of no use.

She brought the AR15 up into her shoulder, tucking it deep into the familiar pocket, resting her cheek against the stock, gently closing her left eye, allowing her to focus on the targets below with just her right. The figures down below hadn't noticed her new position, their attention focused intently on the first level of the house. Andra quickly weighed her options. She would need to shoot in quick succession, incapacitating each adversary with one shot. Then, hopefully James would have the two in front under control. They each only had one real chance.

She methodically moved her sights, resting on the figure further from her. It would just be a quick jerk to the left to hit the second man down below.

Her breathing slowed, the sights moved slightly with each rise and fall of her chest. She slid her finger between the trigger guard and trigger, pulling the slight slack before pausing. With one smooth motion, the squeezed the trigger, not waiting to see where the bullet landed before swinging left and squeezing once more. She lowered the rifle, halting briefly to make sure the bullets ended in their intended targets before rushing back down the stairs. She scanned the living room, finding herself a little unhappy to see it empty. A succession of loud pops echoed in the hallway seconds before the sky lit up and the deafening roar filled the stillness. James appeared at her side a moment later and grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her from her temporary state of shock and leading her through the front door.

He ushered her toward the H1, the heat of the fire oppressive. The propane tank Reyhan used to heat his home was gone, the fire left in its place quickly dying as it ravenously fed on the fuel. Gunfire rang out, but the bullets sped past harmlessly. James climbed behind the wheel and scarcely waited for Andra to slam her door shut before bringing the engine to life. In reverse, he sped down the driveway at full speed, not risking a look ahead of him. When he reached a clearing, he spun the Humvee around and slammed it into drive, the transmission whining as he pushed the vehicle to its limits. The heavy SUV bounced along, gripping the roadway tightly.

"That was impressive." Andra quipped, turning in her seat, scanning the night, searching for a vehicle she was almost sure would be following.

"Where do we head next?" James asked, ignoring her remark, his heart still pounding loudly in his chest.

Satisfied they were finally alone, Andra settled back in the seat, adrenalin still coursing through her body. "I don't know." she responded. James decided the answer was satisfactory for the moment and relaxed his body, permitting the stress and anxiety to slide from his body. The moon was beginning to rise over the horizon, lighting the thoroughfare. The H1 continued to barrel through the night, its destination unknown, and neither occupant seeming too concerned.


	11. Tver

A sharp jolt pulled her from a sleep she hadn't realized she'd slipped into. James glanced at her only momentarily before focusing back on the heavily grooved roadway that lay in front of him. Andra shifted uncomfortably in the seat, her lower back aching from the unnatural position she had fallen asleep in. A slight rustle from the backseat pulled her attention behind her, noticing for the first time the two paper bags tucked securely behind the driver's seat.

"When did you stop?" Andra asked after a quick glance at the fuel gauge, no longer hovering just above the quarter tank mark.

"Sleep well?" James asked, ignoring the question. A wave of paranoia washed over Andra and she turned sharply in her seat, scanning the darkness behind the Humvee.

"You stopped." Andra muttered.

"I needed directions." James said, grabbing the neatly folded map tucked into the driver's side door and waving it briefly before securing it once again. "And you were asleep." Andra turned toward James, distrust filling her eyes. She shook her head and leaned back in the seat, her body screaming at her, discontented with her sudden movements. "I thought you'd be a little more appreciative," James continued, reaching behind the seat and into one of the paper bags, tossing a smaller bag into her lap. "I'm not quite sure what they are, but they're fairly good." James added when Andra reached into the sack and pulled out a bottle of water and a couple of snack bars. Pausing only briefly to cast a suspicious glance James' way, Andra quickly tore into one of the bars, ravenously finishing it before twisting open the bottle of water and swallowing several large gulps.

"Where are we?" Andra asked, working on the second bar.

"A few kilometers outside Tver." James answered, trying to convey the certainty he was lacking. He had barely been able to remember a few key phrases in Russian when he had stopped off at the bucolic gas station. With the H1 running on only fumes, and James hopelessly lost, the station was a blessing. Of course, ever since M had given him this assignment, everything seemed to be an uphill battle, and the stroke of luck was only temporary. The store owner spoke not a word of English, and James hardly spoke an utterance of the Balto-Slavic language. But, with a little luck, he made it work, translating the elderly mans' ramblings into some semblance of directions. And hopefully, he was heading toward the city he wanted, eager for a shower and a few hours rest.

"Tell me about the assignment for President Zille." James pressed, part of only asking to keep the conversation going. The other side of him, the intelligence agent part of him, needed to know, to make sense of the past few days. He still had his initial orders. Without his cell phone, the only contact to M which he had foolishly left behind in the Mercedes at the entrance of Izmailovo Park, he couldn't relay the past days' encounters. He was certain the story M was sure to be receiving from the 'friends' in Langley made him out to be a collaborator with Andra. It would only be a matter of time before his named landed alongside Andra's to be terminated.

And right now, he was sure whom to believe. Were the bullets fired at Andra in Izmailovo Park really meant for him as well? Or was he just a victim of circumstance? How did it look for the MI6 to help the wanted CIA agent escape? Twice. If Andra really was a defector against her country, where would that leave him?

"What do you want to know?" Andra asked after taking a few sips from the nearly empty water bottle.

"Everything."

"I tell you, and then you tell me everything you were told about me. Including the list of names given to you by whomever. Deal?" James paused for a few moments, seemingly reviewing his options, before nodding slightly, but remaining silent. "For the past year, I've been working with the Iraqi government to bring down a terrorist cell known as Flying Crow. I was shifted off my work inside Russia, because very few intelligence agents actually speak the language spoken in the Middle East. Plus, it was through my connections in Russia that I actually came across the growing number of extremist cells inside many of the countries the United States calls 'friends'.

"Anyway, my work brought me to South Africa, where President Zille had a ostensibly tough on terrorism stance, as I mentioned before. Only it was really just a façade. Some of Flying Crow's most diehard extremists were working on a plot against the American people. Involving a series of suicide bomber attacks in the US's major cities during celebrations like Mardis Gras, Times Square on New Year's Eve, With the help of the South African government. Visas, passports, money, anything the terrorists needed were readily handed over by Zille." James noticed the strain in her voice as she spoke. And he understood her stress. Suicide bombers were seemingly a problem only for the war-torn Middle East. Americans lived with a certain sense of security; unable to be touched by the threats plagued by other countries. 9-11 had rocked the American perception of security, but it was short-lived. Five years later, things were not much safer, but the perception was still there. Suicide bombings were something unimaginable inside the United States, but a certain possibility. If and when it happened on U.S soil., it would certainly be catastrophic.

"During all this, my job was to be the 'middle-man', so to speak. I was supposed to believe in their cause and offer help on the American side. And slowly they learned to trust me, which is how I learned about Zille. Once I told my superiors, they pulled me. A few days later, I was given the assignment to terminate President Zille.

"Two days later, I was in Moscow for a meet with my handler. I'm sure you know about him. Gabriel Krause." James nodded. "I was suppose to pick up a new identity for travel back to the U.S. where I could brief my superiors, and in turn, be briefed on a new assignment. Apparently, that's not what they had in mind."

"Apparently not." James agreed.

"Your turn."

"I was told you had defected and had assassinated President Zille because he was working against the terrorists in his country." James answered, keeping his answer as brief as possible.

"And the list of names?" Andra asked impatiently.

"I don't have it on me. That would be stupid." James snapped back. "But I can tell you the two people you ran to were not on my list."

"Then how did you find me the first time?"

"I have my ways." Andra rolled her eyes, but allowed an amused grin to spread across her face briefly.

"What about the name Yuri Nekrasov?" Pausing only slightly to run the list through his mind, he nodded. Yuri Ivanovich Nekrasov had been at the top of the list. "And Saied al-Jamil ibn Nidal?" Another nod. The name had been right underneath Nekrasov's. "Aleksandr Madaev and Reyhan bin Tariq al-Fulani.

"I never told the Agency Aleksandr's real name." Andra explained, noticing the look of confusion on James' face. "Yuri Ivanovich was part of his cover. To keep the SVR from finding out he was working with the CIA as well." The change in her voice and posture did not go unnoticed.

"And to keep the CIA from fully knowing who Madaev was as well?" James asked, receiving a look from Andra.

"Was it wrong for me to not completely trust the people I work for?" she asked, her tone condescending. "I work for an agency run by people who are paid to lie. I'm paid to lie. You work for the same type of agency. You can't tell me you completely trust the people you work for. And if you do, I feel sorry for you." Andra added, her voice laced with disapproval.

James stayed quiet, unable to agree, but understanding where she was coming from. And that extra safeguard probably kept her alive, especially at a time like this, where it seemed the people she served had viciously turned on her.

But if there was one person he trusted, it was M. She had never given him a reason not to. Even after the countless times he had given her grounds.

James turned his attention fully to the road, noticing for the first time, row of cars parked alongside the roadway in the distance, illuminated by a blinding security light. He cursed to himself quietly, searching the area for a road to turn onto, or at the very least, a place to turn around.

"It's a security checkpoint." Andra said matter-of-factly, following his gaze. "And there's no street to turn down." she continued, reading his thoughts. "And if you turn around, they'll send a few officers after us."

"So?"

"So, let me talk our way out of this one." James shrugged, but continued on, stopping the Humvee a few feet from a half dozen armed men, Russian _militsiya _dressed in dark battle dress uniforms. Andra confidently hopped out of the vehicle, a wide smile aimed at the obvious leader of the group, the only one with rank insignia stitched on his collar.

"_Prevyet!" _she said, cheerily, tossing a friendly wave to a few counterparts as she approached the police lieutenant. She stayed clear of the illumination, not wanting to arouse suspicion with the by bringing the fresh wound to the side of her head to light. Along as she stayed relatively in the shadows, hopefully none of the men would notice it.

"_Enazvanya e tsehel_" Name and purpose.

"Here." Andra reached into her back pocket and produce the passport Aleksandr had given her what seemed like a lifetime ago and handed it to the man that towered over her.

"Where are you headed to?" he asked as he studied the passport intently.

"Tver. To visit my aunt. She's very ill."

"I need his as well." the lieutenant said, nodding toward the Humvee. Andra turned toward the vehicle briefly before whirling back to the lieutenant, her eyes wide and apologetic.

"I'm afraid all his identification was left back in Moscow." she said quietly. "As soon as I received the phone call about my aunt, we left in a hurry." The older man stared at her, his expression unreadable. Andra stared back, her appearance one of sincerity. Inside, her heart was racing and pounding so loudly in her chest she was certain the stocky lieutenant in front on her could hear it.

"Stay here." he ordered, taking a few steps toward the Humvee.

"Wait!" she called out, reaching hastily for the _militsiya _officer, causing concern among the others. "He's British. He doesn't know a word of Russian. He's a friend visiting from London." ANdra added, noticing the lieutenant's skeptical look. She smiled once again, trying to ease the tension she felt in the air, as she reached into her jeans pocket, pulling out the stack of mixed money. She peeled off a few rubles from the top of the stack, equaling to nearly a hundred U.S. dollars. The lieutenant pocketed the rubles, his face once again expressionless. When he didn't move, she stifled a sigh and pulled a few more bills from the stack, another hundred dollars worth, knowing the next bribe would go to the pockets of the five men behind her.

The officer took the offered bills and nodded once before heading back to the rest of the _militsiya, _now unconcerned with the man behind the wheel of the SUV. Satisfied, Andra made her way back to the H1, a smug smile when she caught James' eye.

"Well?" James inquired as Andra pulled herself into the idling Humvee.

"Money talks." James put the vehicle in gear and crept past the row of marked vehicles and line of officers. He waited until the checkpoint was barely visible in the rearview before pressing the gas pedal to the floor, watching as the needle crept slowly above 100k/h. By all accounts they should be less than thirty minutes from Tver. Thirty minutes from a much desired shower. Thirty minutes from a bed, a pillow, and much wanted rest.

The dull glow in the rearview mirror caught his eye. His stomach tightened. He knew what the blue-white beam in the distance meant. They weren't alone.


	12. Leave It Behind

_**Just a brief stop to say thanks to all of my supporters out there**__**J**__** Thanks for sticking by me and the story. And a special thanks to Linwe Elendil! Thanks loads for the help **__**J**_

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Andra noticed the change in the atmosphere inside the automobile. She turned to James, noticing his attention focused on whatever was behind them. She twisted in her seat, her nails digging into the cloth fabric of the passenger seat when she noticed what commanded all of the MI6 agent's awareness. The lights in the distance bounced along brutally, the vehicle closing in from behind victim of the poorly maintained highway.

"I rather doubt that's just a fellow traveler behind us." James retorted, coaxing the vehicle faster.

"Well, how the hell did they know where we are?" James shook his head, unable to answer the question. The steering wheel shuddered in his grasp, forcing him to keep a tight grip to prevent the vehicle, which was much more eager to follow the deep grooves in the road than to stay in the unmarked lane, from navigating off-course.

The vehicle behind noticed the quick increase in speed, and picked up its own pace, rapidly closing the gap. Andra instinctively reached into the back seat, disregarding the fire in her shoulder. With the AR-15 tight in her grip, she quickly reassured herself it was still loaded before facing back around in her seat.

James scanned his memory, trying hard to remember the layout of the highway from the few seconds he had previously spent looking at the map. There were only a few turnoffs, and at the moment he couldn't remember how many they had passed, or even if they had passed any at all. Not knowing his surroundings was a mistake he rarely made. The combination of fatigue and concentrating on the unanswered questions swirling around in his mind caused him to forget some of his most basic survival skills.

In the distance, two more sets of headlights appeared, this time ahead of them. The realization hit him immediately. They were trying to block them in.

Scenarios began running through his mind. None of them had happy endings. The edge of the roadway dropped off sharply at each side, the deep ditches measuring possibly two meters deep and nearly one and a half meters wide. Just enough to possibly make veering from the roadway a viable escape. The small saving grace was they happened to be in a solidly built machine, strong and sturdy, reinforced with nothing but steel. Hardly the best getaway vehicle, but able to bully most inferior vehicles from its path.

He kept his foot pressed hard against the pedal, dividing his attention between the lights behind him and the vehicles barreling down on them from the front at an increasing speed. As the vehicle in his rear view approached, he recognized the familiar form of the Jaguar, racing along the decaying roadway, the finely tuned suspension barely holding its own against the Humvee's much more rugged chassis.

Ahead of them, two identical SUVs sped, side by side, along the thoroughfare, their headlights blinding. Not nearly capable of the speeds reached by the Jag, but able to handle the rough terrain just as well as the H1.

"I need you to disable the Jaguar behind us." James said absently, trying to calculate his next move, knowing it would need to be precise.

"Sure." Andra muttered, her voice wavering slightly. Shooting from a stationary position at a target was easy. Shooting from a moving position was a great deal harder.

James gripped the steering wheel tightly, his breathing shallow, his chest tight. The dark SUVs were too close for comfort, but still not near enough. Just a few more seconds.

Bullets fired from the SUVs whizzed through the air, puncturing the windshield. James forced himself to remain calm and pulled himself farther down into the seat, giving the men firing at him less of a target to work with.

"Get your bloody head down!" he shouted angrily at Andra, who had been previously preoccupied with the sight behind them. James reached up, placing a heavy hand on the side of Andra's head, pulling her down and towards him, away from the deadly shots. Andra reacted by shoving his hand away from her, tossing an evil look in his direction.

James whipped the wheel quickly to his left, causing the H1 to turn clumsily, kicking up a fury of frozen mud and rocks. Once the left front tire hit the ditch bordering the road, he turned quickly to the right, keeping the passenger side tires on the highway. The Humvee listed dangerously to the left, teetering precariously as he raced along, praying the tred on the right side tires would continue to grip the solid surface. He passed the SUVs, missing the one on the right by merely a few centimeters. Brake lights illuminated the night as the drivers of the SUVs struggled to comprehend the scene around him, taken aback by the tactic.

James forced the H1 back on the roadway, smiling slightly to himself when he caught the frenzy in the rear view mirror. The engine kicked into high gear, whining painfully as the speedometer reached the governor. Behind them, the Jag pulled away effortlessly from the SUVs, quickly closing the distance once again. With one more angry look James' way, Andra climbed into the backseat, the AR-15 tucked deep into the pocket of her shoulder, the driver of the Jag squarely in her view. She gripped the weapon tightly, trying vainly to keep the muzzle even with her target. The rough landscape made sighting in nearly impossible.

The Jaguar seemed to sense what was to come and swerved back and forth between the sides of the narrow road. Andra kept the muzzle aimed directly behind them. Following the Jag with the muzzle would be pointless. She would just have to wait until they stayed in her sights long enough.

As Andra focused on the Jaguar, James focused in the SUVs as they turned around and quickly made up for the ground lost by his maneuver.

Andra watched the Jaguar through her sights. The driver was a pro. He knew just how to make himself a difficult target. He was good. But she was better.

The moment finally came, the driver stayed in her sights a little too long. She squeezed the trigger and smiled sickly as the driver slumped forward in his seat, dead from a round through the heart. The Jaguar veered sharply off the roadway, its front end catching the edge of the ditch. Still under the power of centripetal force, the sports car careened on its side, rolling along violently several times before slamming into its final resting spot against one of the many pine trees spread out along the side of the road.

Unable to recover quickly enough to focus in on either of the SUVs, one vehicle took advantage of the chaos and slammed hard into the rear bumper of the H1, forcing James to keep an inhumanly tight grip on the wheel. The force was unexpected and Andra tumbled backward, the AR-15 cluttering noisily against the metal framework of the door.

"Damn it." Andra cursed, pulling herself back up, just in time to notice the SUV's second assault, this time gripping tightly to the backseat. She reclaimed the rifle, deciding to forgo the sighting-in phase and pulled the trigger, letting bullets escape from the chamber in three round bursts. One of the SUV's spun out wildly after she struck the driver with a lucky shot to the shoulder. The second and final SUV approached, setting the vehicle up for another vicious assault. James predicted this and let the driver line himself up directly behind the H1.

"Hang on." James called out the quick warning, barely giving Andra enough time to brace herself against the back of the passenger seat, as he slammed the brakes, causing the SUV to slam fiercely into the rear of the H1, causing the front end of the smaller SUV to crumple. The passenger of the pursuing SUV smashed through the thick windshield, leaving him partially ejected from the vehicle's interior. The driver was slumped forward, his head resting on the steering wheel.

James coaxed the tired transmission into drive and pushed the gas petal to the floor, the teeth-grinding sound of metal against metal filled the newfound silence, as the vehicles slowly peeled apart. The H1 slowly picked up speed and James finally expelled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Behind him, he heard Andra do the same. She dropped the rifle onto the seat and took a few moments to steady her nerves before climbing back into the front seat.

"We need to get out of here." Andra breathed. "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take." James nodded absently, not really hearing what she was saying. His thoughts were focused now on how Hollis could've known where they were, and how he was able to set up a trap.

James stepped hard on the brake, placing the transmission in park before the vehicle had a chance to quit moving. "Take off your sweater." he ordered, reaching over to pull the heavy wool from her body when Andra paused slightly. She objected only slightly, soon realizing what the man next to her was thinking. She shed the heavy fabric, leaving it in James' grasp, before hopping out into the frigid night, her flesh rough with goose bumps as it connected with the icy air.

Ignoring the pain and cold, she dropped to her knees, running her hand along the rough bottom of the Humvee, searching for the familiar feel on a tracking device.

Inside the vehicle, James closely inspected the sweater, finding nothing unusual. Tossing it aside, he slowly racked his brain, thinking of anything and everything they had picked up recently.

His eyes slowly landed on the glove compartment, a realization dawning. He flicked open the compartment and pulled out the heavy leather wallet, the wallet Andra had taken from her handler. They had always been able to find her, and now he knew how.

Remembering she had searched it once before, he tore at the seams, certain he would find what he was looking for.

There it was. Stuck between the leather, the small circular disk he had been searching for. He slid from the front seat and out into the cold, calling Andra's name, holding the dark wallet up for her to see. A look of dejection crossed her face, as he tossed it into the night, the dark hide disappearing among the shadows.

"I checked that." Andra said quietly.

"It was in between the material. It was a hard find." Andra stayed silent and climbed back into the SUV, slamming the door shut angrily behind her before slipping back into the warmth created by the heavy sweater.

James slid back into the driver seat and coaxed the H1 back into gear. Following Andra's directions, he picked the first side street and headed east, away from Tver, but toward a smaller village which was home to a rather night hotel, Andra promised, but off the map. Which meant there was less chance they would be found there.

James didn't object, and cruised along, eager to leave this night and, hopefully tomorrow, Russia, behind.


	13. The Move

_**Once again, thank you to Linwe Elendil. Thanks, amiga, for pulling me out of my slump, yet again!**_

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The silence pulled James from his sleep. It took him a moment to figure out where he was, and why the stillness bothered him so. He blinked repeatedly to clear the sleep from his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbows, scanning the hotel room from his spot on the sofa. The sheets on the queen sized bed were still pulled back, an obvious sign someone had slept there recently. But that someone was no longer there, or anywhere else in the cramped hotel room.

He sat up quickly, wincing when his body objected at the movement, still upset about having to spend the night on the too small sofa. Gone from the nightstand were the passports and currency she had pulled from her jeans before settling off to sleep. The only sign left indicating the room was once inhabited by another was the rumpled bed sheets Andra had left behind.

James tossed the heavy blanket draped over the lower half of his body and jumped to his feet, tearing around the room like a madman, searching for a hint, a clue, anything that might be able to tell him where Andra could have skipped off to. He was beginning to curse himself for being so lax with the wanted spy, when he heard footsteps fall lightly down the hallway. He grabbed the Walther from its resting place on top of his neatly piled clothes and brought the muzzle up just as the door leading out into the hallway slowly opened, quietly, as if purposefully trying not to make a sound. His finger twitched on the trigger, James seconds away from firing a silenced bullet into the unannounced visitor, when Andra's familiar features registered in his mind, her eyes staring back into his, filled with amusement.

"Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Bond." Andra quipped, gripping in her hands two large plastic bags, as she shut the wooden door with her hip. The smell of breakfast filled his nostrils, causing his stomach to rumble anxiously.

James let his eye wander over Andra as she placed the bags on the unkempt bed, noticing her change of clothes as she shed the heavy winter coat. She was dressed in slacks and crisp, deep emerald dress shirt that complimented her eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun that settled at the nape of her neck, a few errand strands framing her face. She looked refreshed, and in much better shape then when he first laid eyes on her.

He noticed the approving glance his way when she permitted her eyes to scrutinize his form. She caught him watching her and gave him a coy smile as she tossed one of the bags his way.

"What's this?"

"A new outfit." James dug threw the neatly stacked clothes before looking back up at Andra, smiling.

"You went shopping?"

"No." Andra answered, settling cross-legged on the bed as she pulled out two Styrofoam boxes from the second bag. "I paid the nice elderly lady who gave up this room last night a few hundred rubles to go out shopping for me. She did very well, I think." James let the bag fall to the floor, more concerned with his obnoxious hunger than with the new clothing. He grabbed one on the boxes and with a fork Andra handed him, he settled back down on the couch.

He popped open the lid, allowing the sweet smell from within to fully escape. Inside, were three thin pancakes, rolled into logs and sprinkled with raisins.

"_Blinchiki _with _tvorog_." Andra explained, when she noticed James' slight pause. "They're really good. Pancakes fried and then filled with ground poppy seeds, raisins, cottage cheese, sugar, milk and eggs. Not the best choice of food if you're sticking to a diet, but very, very delicious." James took a large forkful, pleased to find Andra was not bluffing. It really was rather delicious.

A slight rap on the door broke the silence. Andra jumped quickly off the bed and answered it, without the slightest hesitation. The woman who had checked Andra and James into the hotel, without batting an eye at the state of disarray the two were in, stood in the doorway, a large smile on her creased face and a large glass of orange juice gripped in each hand.

"_Dlya vaas, Ekaterina."_

"_Cpaceeba." _Andra took the glasses from the elderly woman, who smiled gratefully at her before pulling the door closed behind her. James appreciatively took a glass from Andra's outstretched hand, taking a few sips before placing it down at his feet.

"You should hurry." Andra began after swallowing a bit of her breakfast. "We have to make our flight to Dubai." James looked up at her in disbelief, frowning as she grinned back at him.

"What could possibly be in Dubai?"

"Money. Contacts. And an ocean away from those traitorous bastards." James took another large bite as he studied Andra. She seemed relaxed and calm on the outside, but there was something much different lying beneath the surface. Her eyes, her movements, the slightly different tone in her voice; these things allowed him to see past her façade, and into the turmoil and terror she felt within. The shock was wearing off on Andra, slowly being replaced by the feeling of hopelessness, of desperateness most wanted fugitives began to feel when their backs were against the wall.

"How…what time is it?" James asked, a little amazed at the things she had managed to accomplish in such a short period of time.

"Nearly ten. We need to be on the road soon if we plan to make it to the airport."

"How did you get a flight?"

"The internet." Andra answered, her tone superior. "That nice elderly lady is quite helpful. She feels sorry for us, seeing as how during our trip from Moscow we were involved in a nasty accident after you so foolishly ran off the road."

"I did?" Andra nodded.

"Mmm, and on our honeymoon, no less." James chuckled in spite of himself, finishing the last of the pancakes.

"Very rude of you to make me sleep on the couch during our honeymoon." James quipped as he gathered the bag containing his new set of clothes and headed toward the bathroom.

"Well, that's what you get for wreaking my father's car. I'm very upset with you right now." James glanced back at her, noticing her solemn expression didn't match the jovial atmosphere in the room. Andra seemed to be in her own world, twisting the simple gold band she wore around her right middle finger slowly, her plate of food nearly untouched.

James closed the door softly behind him, his mind racing. He quickly stripped and stepped into the shower, enjoying the feeling of the warm beads of water beat against his skin. This mornings shower was nearly as glorious as the shower the night before. The warmth eased his aching muscles and the steam cleared his lungs. He felt refreshed and rejuvenated.

He knew they would not be heading to Dubai. The CIA obviously wanted Andra. Desperately enough to turn a trusted friend against her; desperately enough to send her closest ally to kill her; desperately enough to kill the one person he was certain meant the world to Andra. He had noticed the change in her when she talked about Aleksandr Madaev. And, although he couldn't be too certain, the tense in which she spoke of him, told James Aleksandr was probably dead.

The unknowns were driving him mad. He hated this feeling, the fact he really hadn't a clue what was happening around him, the uncertainty of whom to trust. It was time to turn things around in his favor. Which meant they would play on his terms. They would not be heading to Dubai.

He shut the water off and stepped out into the haze that enveloped the tiny bathroom. He quickly dried off and slipped into the fresh garments, surprised to find each item of clothing in his correct size. Andra had clearly snooped while he laid sleeping last night. He was beginning to wonder if she had even slept at all.

After brushing his teeth with the complimentary toothbrush and paste provided by the hotel, and running a comb through his damp hair a few times, he stepped from the bathroom, feeling much more re-energized and much more comfortable dressed in the chino slacks and black button down dress shirt he chose to leave untucked.

The room had been put back in order during his shower. The breakfast boxes were tucked deep into the trash can stationed by the door, the sheets had been pulled from the mattress, ready for launder. Any personal items were neatly stacked on the nightstand, ready to be pocketed.

"Ready?" Andra asked, looking eager to leave.

James nodded and grabbed the passport given to him by M at the beginning of this assignment, along with the wallet containing credit cards and a UK license belonging to his alias, Samuel Kingsley, before following Andra out into the narrow hallway. She led the way quickly, ready to be clear the hotel and Russia altogether.

Downstairs, in the lobby, a small group of tourists, speaking to one another in French, cluttered around the desk, doing their best to speak to the flustered gentleman behind the counter. Off to the side were a few more tourists, two couples, settled into the comfortable couches lined against the wall, their laughter bubbling over the sound of the French visitors.

"Ekaterina!" Andra smiled genuinely as the aged woman approached, her arms filed with fresh towels.

"Irina Marionovna." As the two women chatted, James scanned the lobby, his paranoia peaked. There was something off about the people that filled the room.

"We need to go." James whispered into her ear, grabbing her arm to coax her away from the hotel manager.

"_Dos vedanya." _Andra said, apologetically, allowing James to lead her out the front door.

"What?" she asked, detecting James' piqued mistrust.

"Where's the car?" James asked as he searched the parking lot for the recognizable Humvee.

"Over here." Andra said, pulling James toward an older Citroen, its jet black body surprisingly straight, its paint still glossy. It had obviously been well taken care of. Where it had come from, he hadn't the slightest, but he decided against asking. Andra seemed to have more than enough tricks up her sleeves; he couldn't possibly be able to keep up with all of them.

She slid into the driver's seat, coaxing the engine to life. The throaty purr rumbled throughout the interior as she placed the vehicle in drive, racing out of the parking lot and into the paved roadway, heading south.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched them exit the elevator. He knew immediately it was them. Andra Norreys and James Bond.

Neither intelligence agent seemed to recognize him, or understand they were being watched, but Bond had certainly rushed the petite blonde from the lobby. They would be heading south, towards the airport, traveling in a 1954 Citroen, bought brand new by the hotel manager, who seemed to have a soft spot for Miss Norreys. She certainly loved to go on and on about the nice newlywed couple that had arrived late last night, after surviving an unfortunate automobile accident.

He excused himself from the group and headed outside, pulling his cell phone from his jacket pocket as he did so.

"They're heading to the airport." he said stoically before slamming the phone shut again. His part of the assignment was done. They would be waiting for the rogue agents at their next stop, ready to follow them to their next location. Ready to pass on to MI6 the whereabouts of their defected agent.


	14. The Airport

_**Langley, Virginia**_

Traffic was barely moving along Interstate 495. A thick blanket of snow had coated the landscape, making traveling on the roadway difficult. Henry Logan settled back in the warm leather seat of his Lexus LX, the weight of the day sitting heavily on his shoulders. Things had gone from bad to worse in the search for Andra Norreys with the discovery of four dead and two severely injured men north of Moscow. The backgrounds of each men involved were carefully erased long before Russian police had a chance to check the identities of the six American men, heavily armed and several of them suffering from grave gunshot wounds themselves, fired from the barrel of an AR-15.

He had a feeling something was wrong when Hollis missed his required check-in, and failed to answer the several calls Logan made himself. He had quickly informed his superiors of his suspicions, and precautions were made to protect the CIA and any interests it had in the former Communist country. The dossiers of the six men were erased from the internal banks within the CIA, replaced with well thought-out identities, reserved for situations such as this. As far as the Russian police and its government would know, they were not employed with the Central Intelligence Agency, nor had they ever been.

But, that still didn't solve the Agency's problem with Andra Norreys, and the risk she still posed for the United States. In fact, it multiplied the threat, as they now hadn't a clue where she or the MI6 agent assigned to black-list her were. Norreys' connections ran deep, deeper than anyone in the Agency would ever know. A clean escape from Russia would be difficult, but it wouldn't surprise Logan in the least if Norreys was able to accomplish it. And getting a good foothold within the Middle East would be difficult. They would be less apt to help a wanting United States

Logan pounded the steering wheel in disgust, angry with the traffic, angry with the fresh snowfall, angry with the dwindling options life was handing him.

_**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

_**Domodedovo International Airport**_

The airport was bustling with activity, crowded to near capacity with persons from all walks of life, each sharing the same exasperated expression, fed up with the long lines, pushy people, and never ending list of delayed flights.

James kept a watchful eye on the crowd, using the pack as shelter. He did his best to blend in, hoping he looked as any other traveler ready to embark, weary yet excited at the same time, always making certain Andra was within arms reach.

No one in the crowd 'screamed' undercover agent, of course if they had, they wouldn't be very good at their jobs. However, the wary feeling that had washed over James at the hotel failed to subside; he was certain the were being followed, certain they were being watched at that very moment. Normally, James wasn't so paranoid, which was exactly why the feeling unnerved him so.

In front of him, Andra shifted her weight from her left to her right foot, doing her best to stifle a sigh. If she shared James' feeling, she sure wasn't showing it. Her posture was relaxed, her expression, calm. Every so often, she let her gaze roam the airport, not too intently, focusing on nothing, observing everything.

His gaze pulled to the lean man at the ticket counter, feeling as if he had seen him somewhere before.

Zurich. Nearly a decade ago. The man was a MI6 agent he rendezvoused with briefly during a five minute exchange of information on a BND agent he had been trying to turn. He couldn't remember his name, but James was almost certain it was him.

James reached out and wrapped his arms around Andra's waist, pulling her close to him so he could whisper into her ear.

"Don't fight me, just listen." he ordered as he felt her body tense, loosening only slightly after uttering the phrase. "The man at the counter is MI6. I met him before."

"Are you sure?"

"Nearly. I don't believe it's just coincidence he happens to be boarding the same flight we are." James decided to take advantage of the situation, even if it was ever so slightly, kissing the side of her neck lightly, playing the role she had picked out for him the night before. He knew it would upset her, and by look on her face it did, which was exactly why he did it. "You smell nice." he murmured, receiving a glare in return. "You picked the role, Andra. No need to get upset just because I'm staying in character." Andra pulled away, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, her eyes radiating pure anger.

"Do that again, and I will kill you." Andra hissed, leaning close to ensure she would not be overheard. "And don't ever call me 'Andra' again. It implies a certain intimacy we certainly do not share." James chose to remain silent, but allowed an amused grin to turn his lips, which only seemed to upset Andra further.

"Whatever you say, darling." James whispered after Andra turned back around. He noticed her visibly stiffen as she stepped forward to the awaiting clerk, noticing for the first time they were the next individuals in line.

"How can I help you?" the slightly overweight lady dressed in a simple pencil skirt and white blouse asked, politely in English, her voice laced with a thick Russian accent.

"Hello," James stepped ahead of Andra, cutting her sentence before she even had a chance to utter it, a disarming smile on his lips. "well, I was hoping, actually, that you could help us out a bit." James began, sliding his passport along the counter towards the clerk as he spoke. "I am certainly rather embarrassed to say this, but I booked the wrong flight. I was hoping I could exchange our tickets." He could feel Andra's hot gaze on the side of his face, knowing she wouldn't say a word. At least, not until they were clear of the clerk's earshot.

"Well, we'll see what we can do for you, sir." the woman smiled, blushing slightly when James leaned against the counter, keeping his azure eyes focused on hers, the same lopsided smile on his face. "Do you have the tickets?"

"I do." James turned and grabbed the boarding passes Andra had printed from the kiosk located by the front doors from his jacket pocket.

"Where would you like to fly to, sir?"

"Chania, Greece." He could almost sense what was going through Andra's mind as he spoke. He was certain she knew what he was doing, and why he was doing it. But, it sure didn't mean she would have to like it. Not that it bothered James to terribly much. He let her go on long enough thinking she had the upper hand in this. Enough was enough. Especially if they wanted to survive.

"I think you may be in luck, sir." the woman smiled sweetly, her expression genuine. "We have a flight leaving in just under an hour, landing at Thessaloniki Airport with a layover for two hours and fifteen minutes before reaching its final destination in Chania. Will that do, sir?"

"That would be wonderful." James said, smiling at Andra. "Isn't that great, darling?" Andra stared back at him, her lips pursed tightly and her emerald eyes narrowed in anger. His smile didn't waver, in fact, it seemed to grow wider at her reaction.

"However, sir, there will be a slight fee for the adjustments."

"That's fine. How much?"

"Twenty-five thousand, nine hundred and fifty-three rubles." The clerk said stoically, without even batting an eye.

"Of course. Darling," James' smile widened more so, if that were even possible. "seeing as how you are in charge of all the money…" Andra forced a thin smile, remembering her role in all of this and reached into the small carry on she had purchased on the way to the airport, filled only with bare necessities, and produced a credit card, printed with the name Ekaterina Tarasovna, handing it to the plump clerk.

"_Cpaceeba_." Andra nodded sharply, her gaze never leaving James' face.

With a quick swipe of the credit card, and a few more seconds waiting for the newly purchased tickets to print, Andra and James stepped away from the counter, their gaze every so often floating towards the lanky man dressed in a casual outfit of black slacks and a charcoal grey button down, noticing everywhere they went, the man wasn't too far behind.

Andra had purposely made sure they arrived for their flight right on time, and calls for their flight to Dubai blasted over the loudspeaker in Russian, followed by its English translation. First-class was to be boarded first, followed by business, which still left most of the passengers patiently awaiting for their seats to be called, giving James and Andra a bit of cover from the MI6 agent.

His gaze washed over the two for a brief moment, then he went back to casually ignoring them. James grabbed Andra and pulled her toward the men's room before the agent had another chance to glance their way. With a light shove, he pushed her into the room, locking the door behind them when he made certain they were alone. With no motion wasted, James dug into his own carry on suitcase, pulling a change of clothing from the bag for Andra. After tossing the change of clothing onto the toilet seat, Andra locked herself in a stall and quickly shed her clothing, as James did the same. Within a few moments, Andra and James emerged from the restroom, with Andra dressed in an airy patterned skirt that fell conservatively just below her knees and a white cashmere sweater. Her blonde hair was tucked underneath a brunette wig that grazed her shoulders. James had changed into black slacks and a dark blue wool sweater, his own blonde hair hidden beneath a dark wig. Non-prescription reading glasses now framed his blue eyes. He stole a glance at their tail, who was busy scanning the sea of faces, panic reflecting in his dark eyes. A sly grin spread across James' lips as he led Andra away from the gate, a heavy hand on the small of her back, steering her toward the much small group of passengers, already lined up at the terminal, waiting for the flight to Greece to be called.


	15. Choices

_**I know, I know. It's short. I apologize. **_

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M sat in her office, replaying the video once more. She watched 007's familiar form move across the frame, leading a slender brunette through the crowded airport. For nearly ten seconds she watched him walk confidently, glancing over his shoulder once, the camera catching the smug grin on his face. She never doubted Bond would sense the tail she had placed on him. She was, however, surprised at the maneuver he made. His actions lately only seemed to solidify the seemingly obvious. It was becoming painfully clear who's side Bond was actually on.

_**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

Andra had stayed in an angry silence since they had boarded the plane nearly two hours ago. James had been satisfied to allow her to wallow in her irritation, but he still had plenty of questions he wanted answered, and he suspected she had some herself. With the relative privacy expected without anyone seated too close to them on the half empty flight, now seemed like an appropriate moment.

"Tell, me," James began, leaning his head close to hers, the crisp scent of her shampoo filling his nostrils. "there's a few things that have raked with morbid curiosity."

"Such as?" Andra asked, politely, not bothering a look his way.

"Such as," James continued, quietly. "How was it you were able to call off Sima at Reyhan's residence?" Andra turned to him and smiled, chuckling slightly as if he should already be privy to an inside joke, before taking a small sip from her gin and tonic.

"I helped him train Sima. I spent much of 2003 and most of 2004 with Reyhan. I had more than enough time to instill my own orders with Sima. Just in case I ever needed to use them. I always knew it would come in handy." James settled back in his seat, studying Andra's relaxed features, her haughty smirk, and finally realized who Andra Norreys in fact was. She wasn't so much paranoid, as she was extremely cautious of the people she allowed in her life, either on a professional or personal basis. She had long ago learned how to separate her emotions from the rest of her, which had been glaringly apparent in her dossier. Andra would never allow anyone to get the drop on her, no matter how close a relationship she shared with another. She was cold and calculated, believing no one should be trusted. James had believed they were building a slow trust with one another, but now it was certain she was just as cynical about James as the first time they had met. He was certain she still had a plan to kill him deep in her mind, and escape into seclusion, only to reappear on her own terms. He would without doubt need to stay clear and focused until he could completely figure out what was going on with Andra Norreys.

He noticed Andra had turned to him, a question in her eyes.

"Why are we going to Greece?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. James took a moment to admire her beauty, which certainly didn't need the enrichment of cosmetics. He couldn't help but appreciate a natural beauty. When the sculpted eyebrow arched higher, he pulled himself back to reality.

"I have contacts there." he answered, taking a sip from his own gin and tonic, delightfully surprised at how smoothly it slipped down his throat. "And seeing how we aren't exactly batting a thousand with your contacts, I figured it was my turn."

"I see." Andra murmured, finishing the rest of her drink. "How did you know I wouldn't make a scene back at the airport?"

"I didn't. I did however hope you would be smart enough not to." Andra shifted in her seat so that most of her body was facing James, her arms crossed, an amused expression on her face.

"Really?" Andra asked. James nodded.

"Hmm." Andra settled back in her seat, the amused grin still there. James chortled quietly to himself, enjoying the supercilious tone that enveloped Andra. Whether she was foolish enough to believe she'd be able to survive on her own terms, or that was merely the air she put off, James wasn't sure.

James sipped his cocktail slowly, savoring the smooth juniper flavor of the gin as it brushed over his tongue. Andra had ordered the drinks for the two of them shortly after takeoff, after first confirming it could be made with only Hendricks's Gin and Q Premium Tonic water, which made the drink much sharper and less sweet, with much more flavor. He would have to remember to compliment her on her refined palate.

"So, Mr. Bond." Andra said, with almost a friendly and inviting underlying tone. "Am I to believe that you are beginning to somewhat 'side' with me in all this?" James turned to her, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

"What would lead you to believe that?" he asked, keeping his ambiance welcoming, never mocking.

"Well, for starters, we're heading to Greece, not England as I would suspect you'd try to drag me to. Also, you felt it necessary to ditch your undercover 'compadre', which means you're not quite sure whom or what to believe anymore." Andra's tone was just as light and innocent as James'.

"Well, your counterparts have already shown they aren't too eager to continue to allow you to live, and I'm rather certain they'd suspect me to bring you back to England, as I was initially ordered to do. Of course, they'd be there, waiting to kill you, and quite possibly, me as well. And I am much to attractive to die." Andra chuckled and turned her head away, but not before James recognized the genuine laughter and gaiety in her emerald eyes. "What?" he asked, innocently, leaning forward so he could catch her eye.

"You think rather highly of yourself, don't you, Mr. Bond?" she asked, her green eyes dancing.

"I suspect you feel the same about yourself as well, Ms. Norreys." Andra smiled, but chose to remain silent. "That's what I thought." James said satisfactorily, settling back in his seat, content to let the conversation die and appreciate the relaxed air between the two.

_**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

M stared hard at the email, careful to re-read every word she had typed. All she needed to do was hit send. It almost didn't feel right, the phrases that gazed up at her. In a few seconds, the Americans would know where their agent was headed to, information she'd rather not share, considering the blind recipient to the email. However, this was their case to begin with, she merely provided a little assistance.

In the email, she requested the CIA to allow her agency to take care of the next step. To permit her to fix her mistake.

She sighed and clicked the send button. In an instant, the message disappeared, replaced by a message assuring her it had made it to its final destination. She shut down her computer and pushed herself away from the desk, eager to leave the confining office.

She didn't understand why she felt so terrible. Bond was the one who had chosen to defect. And it was now her job to send her next best Double-Oh out to eliminate the problem.


	16. M

Henry Logan slowly read, then re-read the intercepted email from MI6. AD Paulson had the highest security installed on his computer, which made it nearly impossible for anyone to get a hold of anything of importance from his system. Nearly, but not quite. After all, Logan himself had been in charge of installing all the Assistant Director's security systems. It made it rather simple to flag his account and have any incoming emails to be sent blindly to Logan's office, where he could review them before deciding whether to pass it along to Paulson.

He felt almost giddy as the information sunk in. Norreys had been spotted boarding a plane headed for Crete, still in the company of that MI6 agent, which surprised Logan, if only slightly. He wondered how much Norreys was aware of her situation, if anything at all. Krause's death hadn't been planned, he was certain of that. Which meant there had been little if no time to interrogate the operative. The same went for her contact in Tver. He had done his best to catch Norreys off-guard, but it was beginning to seem a lot harder to do than previously expected.

After memorizing the names Ekaterina Tarasovna and Samuel Kingsley, Logan hit reply, carefully rehearsing what he wanted to convey over again in his mind. What worried him the most was MI6 wanted to take care of the problem themselves. He never agreed with Paulson's decision to bring in outside help; it was more trouble than it was worth. If MI6 succeeded in completing their mission, it would be detrimental to Logan and everything he'd tried so hard to contain. It would be best to handle things his way, to make sure Andra Norreys disappeared, which would keep her case open, and focus off him.

He quickly scribed a reply, as diplomatic as possible, assuring MI6 sending an assassin would not be necessary, in fact, the CIA had provisions already in place to handle _Isolde_. However, feel free to take care of your rogue agent as you see fit. Norreys will not be a problem much longer, he assured.

Logan paused for a few moments to assure himself the tone of the email was correct before hitting send, closing out the window as soon as the message was sent, eager to book his flight to Crete.

_**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

James allowed the door to click silently shut behind him as he entered, hearing only the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom. In his hand, he gripped the medical kit she asked him to locate. It wasn't much, barely worth the ten Euros he spent on it, but if anything, the antiseptic cream inside would be merit something.

The door to the restroom was cracked open slightly, so he didn't bother to knock. Andra was situated in front of the mirror, the shirt she had been wearing draped on the counter next to her. She leaned close to the mirror, cringing with even the slightest touch as she nursed the wound to her shoulder. She caught his gaze in the mirror, rolling her eyes before returning to the task at hand.

"In polite societies, we like to knock before entering a room." she announced dismissively, hissing slightly through her teeth as the cloth made contact with her skin once more.

"Forgive me." he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "In polite society, we're a little politer to those who do favors for us." he mocked, tapping the kit with a palm for emphasis. She caught his gaze once again and smiled, reaching behind her, her fingers wriggling in anticipation of him handing the medical kit over. Instead, James moved to her side, placing the kit on the marble counter before turning her slightly towards him. She looked uncomfortable as he inspected her injury before flipping open the metal lid and grabbing the antibiotic ointment inside.

"At least it's starting to heal." he lamented as he carefully dabbed the cream on the inflamed skin surrounding the wound, cautious not to disturb the dark sutures still binding her skin together. The skin was not nearly as angry as it had been the first time he tended to her wound. The edges of her skin were slowly pulling themselves back together, regenerating. The black sutures still looked odd and harsh against the creamy hue of her skin, but not nearly as severe.

He finished applying the ointment to her wound and busied himself with protecting it with a fresh application of gauze, wrapping it ever-so-slightly around her shoulder. She didn't object at his helpfulness, nor did she approve of it. She still looked slightly distressed as James finished applying the dressing, not accustomed to the gentle gesture. He had to admit, he did enjoy keeping her on edge. He relished in the fact he could unnerve her at any time. It was actually quite entertaining.

James waited until Andra's focus was diverted slightly as she reached for the crisp shirt next to her before deciding to test the waters a bit more. He leaned forward slightly, his lips just scarcely brushing hers for a soft kiss. She didn't respond, nor did she pull away. When he pulled back, he grinned slightly at the fire that had re-ignited in her eyes.

"I hope you got that out of your system." she hissed, her features twisted in an angry scowl. "Because that will never happen again." Andra pulled her shirt over the lace camisole she wore, freeing the hair trapped beneath the color with one quick motion.

"Of course it won't." James said, coyly, his attention now focused on the ringing of the hotel phone in the next room. She followed his movements guardedly as he made his way to the phone, answering it on the third ring. "Yes."

"It's a lovely day for a stroll, isn't it?" The voice on the other end was soft and feminine, accented slightly with a Northern English accent.

"It's beginning to rain." Andra, who had been listening from the doorway, glanced out the huge window occupying most of the far wall, confirming the Greek sky was still a brilliant blue, lit up by the mid-afternoon sun. "Is this a secured line?" A few seconds, and nearly half a dozen clicks later, the voice returned.

"It is now."

"I'm surprised." James said, noticing Andra's suspicious stare out of the corner of his eye. "You got back to me awful quick."

"Your message said it was important." It had been nearly five years since he last saw 005, but he could still imagine the slightly raised eyebrow and the bemused glint in her chestnut eyes as she spoke.

"It is. Did you receive the list of items I needed?"

"I did." She still sounded confused. It was possible she was perplexed by his unusual request from her. She knew 007 should, and would, be able to get whatever he needed from his superior. Or, it could be news of what he was sure would be announced as his defection, had spread quickly. "And in ten minutes, you will receive a message from the front desk stating a package has been left for you." she continued. "It will contain everything you need."

"I appreciate it."

"Certainly. Anything else?" 005 asked after a brief pause.

"No." After the last syllable was uttered, the line went dead. James replaced the receiver back in its cradle, catching her stare.

"Who was that?" With a great deal of effort, Andra had managed to keep the suspicions she felt from creeping into her voice. Her tone was level and calm, her emerald eyes wide and unpretentious.

"A friend." No need to utter another word. She wouldn't press, and he wouldn't elaborate.

As promised, ten minutes later the phone rang once more, the gentleman at the front desk politely informing him a package had just been left.

The package turned out to be no larger than a standard envelope, sealed inside a large manila packet. He waited until he was away from prying eyes to tear open the smaller envelope, finding a key to an Audi. A scan of the parking lot outside located the jet black Audi TT Roadster tucked between a sand colored Range Rover and a cherry red BMW. He slid inside, behind the steering wheel, breathing in the new car scent. After a brief search, he located a Beretta 92, with silencer under the passenger seat, along with three magazines, filled to capacity. After tucking the Beretta into his waistband at the small of his back, he reached into the glove compartment, where he located the cell phone he requested. Seconds after he grabbed the phone, and slammed the compartment shut, the passenger door opened, and Andra slid her slender body into the leather seats.

"Nice car." James smiled up at her knowingly as he turned on the MI6 issued phone, knowing the internal homing device would instantly activate once powered. "Who are you going to call?"

"MI6." he answered.

"Well, I'm sure there's no need." Andra began, her tone patronizing. "After all, you've obviously already gotten in touch with someone, and, if your cell pones are anything like ours, they got a bead on you the moment you powered up that phone."

"Not much gets past you, does it, Ms. Norreys?"

"Not much." Andra smiled and tilted her head to the side, almost playfully. "Now, Mr. Bond, I don't find it rather fair that only you get to possess the firepower here. Tucked away in the small of your back, I'm certain." James matched her smile and playful ambiance.

"If my counterpart followed the directions I sent her exactly, there should be another sidearm in the trunk, along with a high powered rifle. Just in case." James leaned back in the seat and studied her for a few more seconds before continuing. "So, you shouldn't be worried. I need to get a hold of MI6 and explain the past few days encounters. So they don't just decide to snipe us both." Andra nodded.

"Fine." James quickly dialed the number memorized in his head, almost breathing a sigh of relief when he recognized the voice on the other end.

"Is she there?" he asked, answered by stunned silence.

"Bond?" He could tell Villiers was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but wasn't doing a very good job.

"Is she there?" he repeated, his tone a little harsher.

"She is. Can you hold on for a moment?"

"Of course." Less than a second later, he heard the her pick the phone up on her end and sigh deeply before bringing it to her ear.

"Where the hell have you been, Bond?" M asked. She was angry. And she had excellent reasons to be.

"I've been in Russia."

"I bloody know that." she hissed. His flippant remark only seemed to infuriate her more. "Are you still with Agent Norreys?"

"I am."

"Then why the hell are you not here, with her, as ordered?"

"Because things have changed."

"They certainly have. And you certainly have a lot of explaining to do."

"That's the reason for this phone call." James could swear he could feel the heat of her anger through the phone. He had seen her anger before, in fact, he was usually the reason for her fury, but her had never heard the tone in M's voice until now. As if he had crossed a line she never believed he was capable of doing. And in a way, he had.

"There is a trail of dead CIA agents from Moscow to Tver. And then, you decide to give one of my men the slip at the airport. Do you know how this reflects on you?"

"I do."

"Good. Then I'm waiting for an explanation, 007."

"I believe the CIA hasn't been exactly truthful in their explanation of Andra Norreys." James began, his words tumbling quickly from his mouth. "I know Agent Norreys killed President Zille. But, I believe she was given the order to by her government, and now, that government is trying to terminate her so no one knows the United States was behind the murder of a president from a friendly nation." He could feel Andra's gaze on the side of his face, so he turned to look at her. Her eyes stared up at him, filled with a mixture of confusion and awe. He meant what he was saying. And somehow, she knew it.

"And how did you come up with this conclusion, Bond?" M hissed. "Is it because Agent Norreys told you so?"

"No." James shot back. "It's because whoever wants Andra dead, also wishes the same fate for me. In Izmailovo Park." he said, trying to jog her memory, if in fact she had even heard about the encounter with would-be assassins only a few days ago. "Someone tried to kill Agent Norreys. And me as well. Which leads me to believe they only really wanted someone who could lead them to her. Not someone who would be able to bring her in alive." Silence followed as M rolled Bond's words around in her head.

"Where are you now?" she asked, her voice softer.

"Greece. You'll be able to locate me on GPS."

"Will I always be able to?"

"Yes. I have a issued cell phone. Serial number SL45674K." James answered after a brief glance at the back of the silver Samsung.

"I need you back here. In London. With Ms. Norreys." M said as she jotted the number down on a slip of paper.

"I can't." James said, his eyes darting around the parking lot as a group of cars entered.

"Why not?"

"The CIA has probably already found out we're here. And will probably flag our passports in the system, if they haven't already done so. Also, I'm sure they'll be expecting us to land in Heathrow. And I'm certain they won't let either of us out alive."

"Then what do you plan to do?"

"I'm not certain yet." James answered truthfully.

"When will you know?" M asked impatiently.

"Soon."

"And when will I be able to get a hold of you again?"

"Soon."


	17. You Can Never Hide

_**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

_**I'm soooo sorry it took so long for me to update. I just had no idea how to go from point A to point C. Well, for those of you that are still with me, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And I do hope you enjoy….**_

_**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

Even before the phone call to Bond ended, M was busy flipping through the Rolodex filled with telephone numbers and emails only meant for her eyes. After locating the number to the Director of the National Clandestine Services, she quickly dialed the number, surprised when her call was picked up on the first ring.

"Yes." the voice on the other end was deep and slightly laced with a Southern accent.

"This is Barbara Mawdsley, head of the British Secret Intelligence Service. I need to speak with the Assistant Director immediately."

"Can you please hold?" the voice on the other end didn't bother to wait for her to confirm or deny. She waited patiently as she was transferred, no doubt after her credentials and the phone number she called from were scrutinized.

"Miss Mawdsley, I didn't expect a phone call from you." The tone in AD Paulson's voice did suggest surprise.

"I was calling to confirm you received the email I sent you yesterday." She said, keeping her tone level.

"Um, no, I don't believe I did." Paulson answered after a brief pause. "Hold on, I'll check again." Another brief pause. "No. I haven't received an email from you. Did you say you sent it yesterday?"

"I did. It concerned our agents. I hope that you will allow me to take care of my own agent in a way I see fit. I have no qualms about what you choose to do with your agent, but I would rather mine was left untouched." There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end as Paulson digested what M had laid before him.

"One of my best agents was killed the other day," Paulson began, choosing his words carefully. "Quite possibly by either Andra Norreys or your Double Oh. You can understand the sensitive nature of this case."

"I do understand, Mr. Paulson" M quickly said, beginning her sentence before the man on the other end had a chance to finish. "However, I am asking you to allow us to take care of the problem on our end."

"Miss Mawdsley, with all due respect," Paulson began, his tone cold and harsh. "This agency requested your help in taking care of _Isolde_. And now, nearly half a dozen agents are dead. Your agent was witnessed aiding _Isolde _in an escape from a CIA operative. Your agent was witnessed firing upon our men. Your agent is wanted by our agency just as badly as Norreys. I can promise you the solution will be quiet." The line went dead before she could protest. M slammed the phone back in its receiver, the anger she had been feeling toward Bond now directed at the CIA. She understood the CIA's frustrations with MI6 and Bond. However, now that she understood Bond's actions over the past few days, the eagerness to capture Bond and Norreys, and the harshness that followed when she suggested she take care of MI6's "problem", things had started to make sense. Or, was she just so willing to believe an agent under her command wouldn't dare defect?

M slammed an open palm against the desk, angry she was no longer in control of this situation. Bond had control of, what was to be, the capture of Andra Norreys and he knew it. The CIA was now in control of whether Norreys and Bond would live or die. At least if she could have convinced the CIA to let her control Bond, she'd be in charge of that, at least.

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Andra leaned her body against the headboard of one of the two identical queen sized beds and tucked her knees into her chest as she flipped through the channels of the TV, not really paying attention to the images that flashed across the screen. James had left not more than ten minutes ago to find some change of clothing for the two of them in the spacious mall spread across the first level of the hotel, but it felt as though she had been left alone in the room for hours. After all the time spent together in the past few days she suddenly felt alone.

She tossed the remote to the side, opting to leave on a showing of _Breakfast At Tiffany's _dubbed in Greek. She peered down her shirt, to the knife wound in her shoulder, thankful the pain was not much more than a dull throb. In fact, nothing ached much in her body at the moment, thanks to James and a stash of Vicodin in the Audi.

Her body was calm, but the medication did nothing to quell her thoughts. Her mind was still racing a thousand miles a minute, as it had been since the fateful meet with Gabriel. Her stomach clenched at the memory of what transpired in the alley. Gabriel had been her closest friend. He had trained her. She had known him for a decade. He had always been there for her. And he had turned on her. And she had killed him.

But, he wasn't the only one who turned on her. Her agency had turned on her. They wanted her dead. '_Don't fight with me, Andra. I have my orders'_. Gabriel's words had floated around her head since the moment he uttered them to her. He had his orders to kill her. And she had no idea why.

After Gabriel, they had sent MI6 after her, if what James had told her was to believed. Obviously an effort to blindside her. Bringing in someone she wouldn't recognize, or notice right off as an intelligence agent. And they were right. Sending in MI6 was certainly something she would have never expected.

Now, they were both wanted. From the sound of the phone call earlier, James had been able to convince his superior she was not a renegade agent. She had been ordered to assassinate President Zille. Being wiped by MI6 was now no longer a fear. However, the CIA was still a problem. And would be until they reached the safety of MI6 headquarters, which would be nearly impossible. CIA agents would certainly have that area under tight surveillance.

Her stomach continued to tighten and twist. She felt lightheaded as a wave of nausea washed over her. The thoughts and actions of the past few days were too much for her. She shakily pushed herself off the bed and steadied herself to her feet, rushing as fast as she could to the bathroom. She collapsed to her knees, barely making it to the toilet before emptying the contents of her stomach in one violent heave. Tears streamed down her eyes as her stomach clenched again, sending a burning trail of bile to her lips. She just wanted to go home. That's all she wanted. She wanted to be back in her apartment in Manhattan. Or better yet, in Aleksandr's apartment with Aleksandr.

Another dry heave sent a new torrent of tears when she remembered what had been Aleksandr's fate. She had rushed to him for help, which he was all too willing to give, and she had gotten him killed.

She heard the door to the room open and click shut quickly. She sucked in a deep breath of air and grit her teeth when she felt her stomach rumble once more. She pulled herself to her feet, gripping the granite counter for support. After taking a few more deep breaths, she turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her red face, hoping to wash the redness from her eyes. She didn't want James to see her in her present state.

She didn't hear the bathroom door open over the sound of the rushing water. Not until she caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror did she realize she wasn't alone. She glanced up in surprise, which quickly changed to horror when she recognized the face staring back at her in the mirror.

"What the hell?" He grabbed her from behind and placed a gloved hand over her mouth tightly in once quick motion before she even had a chance to react. She struggled against him, trying desperately to free herself from his grasp. He pushed her against the wall, pressing his body tight against hers and loosen the grip he had around her waist. She struggled some more, but his body weight kept her securely pinned. She tried to bite his palm, but the thick gloves made the effort impossible. She could taste the metallic liquid in her mouth as he pressed harder, her teeth digging into the soft flesh on her lips. She felt a sharp prick in her upper thigh. He had just injected her with something was her educated guess. Almost instantaneously, her legs began to feel weak and her vision blurred. He released his grip as her body went limp, causing her head to smash against the counter. The pain was brief, yet sharp, before she slipped completely into unconsciousness.

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Sorry it's so short. The next one will be longer, I promise. I do hope you're continuing to enjoy this :)


	18. The Truth

Her mind was awake, but her body wouldn't respond. Her eyes were much too heavy to open, her arms much to weak to fight against the binds around her wrist. Not that either action would make much difference. She could feel the weight of something covering her eyes, and even if she could free her wrists and ankles from the binds around them, she could tell she was inside a car trunk. And even if she could escape the trunk, she had no idea where she was. She wasn't dressed for the weather, and she was even barefoot.

Another bump in the road caused her head to bounce against the side of the trunk, striking the same spot assaulted by the bathroom sink. A wave of nausea washed over her. She slowed her breathing, concentrating on the sound of the air slipping in and out her nostrils until the wave passed. Once her stomach settled, she felt herself sliding back into unconsciousness, forcing herself to fight it as the vehicle slowed to a stop. She blinked hard, trying to focus on anything to keep her mind awake. She listened as the engine was silenced, the sound of the car door slam and the subsequent footsteps that followed. The sounds echoed in her head, sounding as if they were miles away, instead of just a few feet.

A blast of chilled air flooded the trunk compartment. She tried to move, but her body remained limp. Someone lifted her effortlessly from the trunk, draping her over his shoulder as he slammed the trunk shut. His silence terrified her. The slow, methodical steps unnerving her even more. He was not in a rush.

They entered a building, the heat nearly stifling. He placed her roughly in a chair, her neck snapping back violently. Before her limp body could slide off the chair, she heard the distinct sound of duct tape peeling from the roll as he wrapped strips around her torso.

Blood pounded in her ears and her mind began to slip. The last thing she felt was his hand against her chin as he tilted her head upward.

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The blindfold was gone. Sweat trickled down her neck. Her mouth was now covered with duct tape. She was still bound to the chair. Her head was pounding. Her body ached. She couldn't remember where she was or how she had gotten there.

"Well, good morning." the voice was deep and strangely familiar. She forced her eyes open and brought her head up slightly, her vision refusing to focus on the shape in front of her. "I was beginning to wonder just how long you'd be out." Andra blinked hard, trying to get her vision to clear. She recognized the man seated before her as Henry Logan, the man responsible for dealing her assignments. She had only met him twice before, during the rare occasions she was actually in Virginia.

She tried to speak, forgetting about the tape that prevented her from doing so.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me, Agent Norreys. And that's good, because I have quite a bit for you, too." Her eyes searched his face. He stared calmly back at her, his expression unreadable. She tore her gaze away from Logan and focused on her surroundings. The room was quite small, housing only a small TV perched atop a weathered stand, a mini fridge in the corner, and only two chairs, which were currently occupied by Logan and herself. No windows. No other rooms. The door was not within her line of sight and obviously located behind her. A single lamp lit the room, splashing shadows eerily against the bare walls.

"There's no way out here, Agent Norreys." Logan said quietly, pulling her focus back on him. "Now, you are going to die here." he continued, matter-of-factly. "However, you have the power to make your death drawn out and incredibly painful, or quick and relatively painless. Do you understand?" He pulled his chair closer to hers, his dark eyes intent and unsettling. "I'm going to remove the tape from your mouth. You can scream if you want to, no one is going to hear you, so it'll just be a waste of your time. Now, after I remove the tape, I'm going to ask you some questions. It would be in your best interest to answer all of them, quickly and honestly. If you do not, bad things will happen. I'm sure you know what will happen. So, do we have a deal?" Her gaze hardened as an affable grin appeared on his lips. "Just a nod." She gave a short nod, which caused Logan to lean forward and tear the tape from her mouth. The adhesive was ripped from her skin, leaving a trail of fire behind.

"Shit!" She hissed, running her tongue over her dry lips, hoping to quench some of the pain. "What the hell is going on? What the hell am I doing here? Tell me what is going on." Logan's eyes studied her for a few moments, a brief look of pity flickering in the pools of chocolate.

"We needed an agent who was expendable. That turned out to be you." Andra's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"We needed Zille terminated, quickly and efficiently, without anyone else knowing it was us. Bad business, you know, for the United States running around killing its allies. So, I was tasked with finding an agent who would be able to terminate the president, without being caught. And that was you. Now, you were supposed to die in Russia. Unfortunately, you ended up killing Krause instead. So, needless to say, you have a lot of people very, very nervous." Logan leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Especially, after those stunts you pulled with that MI6 agent. Which is why you're still alive right now. I need to know exactly what you told him. And I need to know now." Andra shook her head in disgust, not expecting Logan to leap from his chair and wrap her little finger tightly in his grasp. "I need to know, Norreys. You had to have told him something. Despite you being rather striking, I doubt he chose to blindly follow you on your looks alone. So, tell me, right now, what was said to him."

"Nothing. I told him nothing." She heard the bone break beneath her skin before the rush of pain flooded her senses. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth as her teeth dug deep into her skin.

"You're lying to me." Logan let her broken pinkie slip from his grasp and turned his attention to her ring finger, twisting sharply. "Don't lie to me. Tell me what you said to him!" Gone was the calm demeanor. Anger now flashed in Logan's eyes, his lip was twisted in a menacing snarl.

"I haven't told him anything." Another quick twist. Another razor of pain. Tears instinctively welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

"Damn it, I am tired of playing this game, Andra!" Logan hissed. He reached up and grabbed Andra by the back of the neck and pulled her head closer to her, his fingers digging deep into the side of her neck. "Listen to me. Listen to me. I am not going to let you ruin this for me, do you understand, you stupid bitch. Tell me what you told him."

"Damn it, I am telling you I didn't tell him any goddamn thing. What the hell could I have told him? I didn't know what the hell was going on in the first place!" It wasn't until she spoke the last of the words did she realize she was screaming. Her breathing was deep and ragged. Her eyes stung. Her entire body felt as if it were on fire. She could feel the heat of her blood coursing through her veins. All her senses were alive, finely tuned and ready for conflict. But her mind was still hazy, clouded by the drugs Logan has injected into her at the hotel. "Don't you think maybe, _maybe _the MI6 agent agreed to help me after that agent you sent after me chose to take a few shots at him as well?"

"I saw it." Logan said quietly, ignoring her question, his eyes still trained on her, but not focused. "I knew what he was from your reports. I knew." His grip tightened and his vision cleared. "But there was no proof. No real concrete evidence. And we all know the CIA can't just assassinate the leader of a friendly country on rumors and conjectures alone, right. _Right_?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're going to get a hold of your little MI6 agent, and you're going to arrange a meet. Then, after you kill him, I'll kill you, thus securing my rightful position within the CIA."

"Are you kidding me? You're using me for a promotion?" Logan smiled but remained silent. "They really believe I killed him for no reason at all, don't they? There were never any official orders to terminate President Zille."

"I knew you were pretty smart. As far as the CIA or anyone else is concerned, you've been off the radar for over a year, selling some of our nation's most sensitive secrets to fanatical terrorist cells in Africa and the Middle East. The secrets you've been keeping from us for the past decade helped solidify the thought in our superiors' minds that you really are a rouge agent."

"What secrets?"

"Aleksandr Madaev? Only you reported him to us as Yuri Nekrasov, remember? You also failed to report just how deep your relationship ran with him. In fact, none of your relationships with anyone within the SVR has been accurately reported, we've come to find out. I do thank you for making my life just that much easier." His grip on her neck lessened, allowing her to pull her head away from him. "Now, as I said, you are going to get in touch with your little MI6 agent and tell him to meet you in Kounoupidiana. Which is where he will be found dead from a bullet fired from your rifle. Afterwards, you will run to Iraklio, where I will attempt to bring you in alive, as requested, only you attempted to fire upon me, which, unfortunately caused me to shoot you once, killing you immediately."

"How am I supposed to get a hold of the MI6 agent? Hmm?" Logan reached into his pocket, pulling the cell phone James had gotten from his contact. "That's not my cell phone."

"I know. However, I sure by now that agent found the cell I left on your bed before dragging you out of your hotel room." Logan pressed a button on the phone pad, bringing the device to life. Two more buttons pushed and he held the phone up to her ear. "Remember, you have the choice to die quickly, or very, very slowly."


	19. Alone

Something was off. It was too quiet.

James listened for any sounds from the bathroom, blocking out the noise from the television. The room seemed undisturbed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that had washed over him on the elevator ride back to his room.

He dropped the bag on his bed and rapped quietly on the bathroom door. "Andra?" When he failed to get a response, he slowly turned the knob with one hand while reaching behind him for the gun tucked into his waistband with the other. He noticed the smear of blood on the counter, and the tiny pool of crimson on the white tiled floor. He brought the muzzle up in front of him and pushed the door wide open. When he realized the room was empty, he tucked the weapon back into his waistband and took inventory of the hotel room. Nothing seemed odd. Nothing out of place. The smears of blood on the tile and counter were the only signs of a struggle, if indeed, there was a struggle.

He need to talk to M. Now. He looked at the nightstand, distinctly remembering leaving it there, before making his way downstairs. But now, it was gone. Thoughts were racing through his mind, his heart pounded in his chest, but he remained calm. She wouldn't have left. Not willingly. She trusted him, he was certain of it. She trusted him to keep her safe.

His azure eyes washed over the room once more, focusing on the cell phone laying in the middle of Andra's bed. He rushed over, nearly diving over his own bed to grab it, searching its registries for any missed or outgoing calls, or messages received. Finding none, he quickly pounded in a phone number, cursing the insane amount of time it took for the call to finally connect.

"Let me talk to her. Now." James hissed into the mouthpiece before the man on the other end could utter a syllable. He redirected the call without protest or haste. A soft click, and he felt a slight wave of relief wash over him when he heard her familiar voice on the other end.

"James, where are you? Are you alright?"

"I need you to locate my cell phone."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"My phone. Someone has my phone, and I need you to tell me where that someone is." M could hear the panic in his voice. She was not used to hearing that emotion, especially from her 007.

"Hang on." She placed the call on hold and stormed out of her office, her strides long and rushed, an obvious woman on a mission. She burst into the control room, receiving surprised stares from the younger agents.

"Tell me where 007's located." she ordered, harshly, gazing intently at the wall mounted screen in front of her.

"What?" one agent asked, clearly still startled by her abrupt visit.

"007. Now! Tell me where he's bloody located!" The agent nodded and quickly tucked his head down, typing in a series of codes into the computer he was located in front of, muttering under his breath after a few moments. "What? What is it?"

"Well, ma'am, it's…the GPS in his cell phone…it's not working."

"Well, why the hell not?"

"It may be off. Or the battery is dead. Unless it has power, I can't get a reading on his location."

"Who the hell designed this thing?" M mumbled, her tone low enough no one else could hear.

"Wait!" the agent cried out excitedly. "We have a signal."

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The low beep in his ear caused him to pull the phone away from his ear. He recognized the number as it flashed on the screen. His number, beckoned to him. He excitedly put the call to M on hold and brought the phone back up to his ear, eager to hear her voice on the other end.

"Andra?" he asked, cautiously.

"James."

"Where are you?"

"I need you to meet me." He could hear the underlying fear in her voice. An emotion she was trying very hard to fight.

"Are you alright?"

"There's a stadium, just south of Kounoupidiana. Meet me there."

"Are you alone?"

"It's about an hour and a half north of Chania." Then silence.

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M reached for the phone in front of her, her eyes still focused on the tiny blinking dot on the screen. She punched up the line where Bond waited and brought the receiver up to her ear.

"Bond?" she asked, hearing nothing but silence on the other end. "Bond?! James?" The faint click on the other end quieted her panic and she released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "Bond, we've got a lock on your phone."

"I'll be in touch."

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He didn't wait for a response. He flipped the cell phone closed and stuck it into his pocket as he rushed toward the door, no move wasted. He raced down the hallway, bypassing the elevators and the small group of young tourists, from the looks of their dress and attitude, possibly American, waiting patiently in front of it. Their exited tones and giggles followed him into the stairwell as he continued on, taking the stairs two at a time. The Audi was waiting for him, parked where his contact had left it. Racing across the parking lot, he let himself in, sinking into the soft leather, bringing the engine to life and the transmission into drive before he finished closing the door.

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_Sorry so short, but I didn't want to post the next part because it would just end up being one ginormous chapter, so I ended it here. Hope you all don't mind!_


	20. Emotions

_**Ok, this was really hard for me to write. I had this whole scene in my mind, but it was difficult to transfer to paper. I may add more in a few days or so, but I'm content with this right now. Any mistakes, let me know. I banged this one out quick**_

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The Audi barreled along the highway, its driver not too concerned with the welfare of himself, or anyone else with whom he was sharing the road. The speedometer told him he was traveling at nearly twice the speed limit, and creeping higher. The steady rain and setting sun made seeing difficult, but those factors didn't deter him. The stadium was actually about a two hour drive, the concierge at the hotel had told him. But, there's really no reason to visit. It's closed for renovation. James had just thanked him for the directions and raced back out to the awaiting Audi, parked where he had left it, in front of the hotel, engine still running, when he realized he had no idea where to go.

A blare of a car horn as James cut around a pack of slower moving vehicles on the shoulder, the Audi's tires slowing a bit when the mud bogged them down. The familiar sensation washed over him as the tires hydroplaned for a split second as they reconnected with the slick surface. He pushed the pedal down as far as it would go, sending the automobile lurching forward in the new, clear stretch of roadway.

The thought he was jumping into a situation unprepared never dawned on him. The thought is was just a set-up never crossed his mind after he hopped into that vehicle. There was only one thing he wanted. To get Andra out. Alive.

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He had talked the entire way. Not caring if she could really hear him from her spot in the trunk, which she could. He talked about fairness, about opportunities. He apologized once for having to end it this way, but hey, it's really all for the greater good. You're not the first agent to be expendable, Andra, he had said, and you certainly won't be the last. Nature of the business, so to speak. In life, no one gets out alive, anyway. Some just get to stick around longer than others.

He had drugged her again before they left, not enough to knock her completely out as before, but just the right amount to keep her five senses alive and dull the pain from her two broken fingers. However, she was still unable to move, the strength gone from her body, so the tape around her wrists and ankles were pretty much a moot point. A fact she would have addressed if she had had any strength and cognitive thinking to string a series of words together to form a coherent sentence.

The almost undetectable squeal of the brakes clued her in before the slowing of forward motion. They were stopping. They were there.

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James pulled the Beretta from its spot in the small of his back. He didn't bother to close the door behind him as he exited the car, breaking into a smooth jog across the wooded field concealing his entrance to the stadium. His finger laid straight along the trigger, his mind was clear and focused. The rain drenched him quickly, causing his clothes to stick to his body, hampering his movements slightly, but not enough to cause him much worry.

He paused outside the main entrance, listening for any sounds, and hearing nothing. He turned back the way he came, sticking close to the concrete side paying attention to everything around him, but careful not to focus on just one thing.

He slipped into the furthest emergency exit, after a quick pick of the lock. With the muzzle of the Beretta leading the way, his steps slow and methodical. Even though he kept his steps light, the sounds echoed throughout the hallowed hallway.

The hallway continued for several feet, branching off, one way leading to the main arena, the other up a stairwell. James ignored the stairwell and continued on, his heartbeat steady, his nerves calm. His body had switched mode, running on years of training embedded into him.

The hallway ended sooner than he would have thought, emptying into the arena, which was surrounded by rows of seats covered in plastic against the rain pouring in from the open ceiling and the debris kicked up during the repair. The sight of her, crumpled against the side of the arena overpowered his common sense. It had to be a set up. A rouse to drag him out into the open. But, at that moment, it didn't matter.

The gun fell to his side and he began to run to her. He wanted to help her. Protect her. Pull her out of the rain.

"James above." her voice was weak and barely audible, but her warning snapped him back, instinct overtaking him yet again. He backtracked quickly, the silenced bullet smashing into the ground just inches from him. He dived back into the hallway, back under cover, not much a position to find the shooter, but a great spot to be considering the alternative.

Another shot, the round nearly silent, but audible to James, flew through the air, striking its intended target with incredible force. The gun nearly slipped from his slack hand, his eyes wide, disbelieving. A brief cry of pain, then silence. Andra was no longer moving.

"Andra." he whispered, his body shaking as it fought against the mix of anger and sorrow that flooded his senses. Another shot. Another bullet fired into Andra. He was trying to force him out. Instead, he was just giving away his position. The shooter was not a pro.

James forced himself to tear his thoughts away from Andra and broke into a run, racing up the stairwell, ignoring the pounding in his chest and the fire in his lungs. Anger controlled him. He was a madman. He wanted blood.

He could no longer hear the sound of the bullets escaping the chamber. How many more shots had the shooter fired? Did they all end in Andra? Was she still alive?

He threw the door to the top floor open, the heavy metal slamming against the concrete, startling the shooter off to his left. A wayward shot was fired in James' direction, missing its target by almost a foot as James lunched forward, sending the butt of the Beretta into the cheek of the shooter. He could no longer control his actions. His anger and hatred guided him, sending the metal into the face and neck of the man beneath him again and again.

With his rage focused in one place, James couldn't see the fist before it smashed into his temple, stunning him momentarily. The pause was enough for the shooter to pull himself from under the deranged spy. The shooter landed another hard punch to James' jaw, followed by a sharp jab to the gut. Ignoring the pain, James grabbed a hold of the sides of the shooter's head, smashing his head against the plastic seats before he felt a sharp pain in his thigh. The pain was only temporary, lost in the emotions that controlled him. He head-butted the shooter, warm blood splashing over his chest as his nose was broken. James took the extra seconds allotted to him and grabbed the hand that gripped the knife tightly. The shooter recovered and realized what James was trying to do. He struggled against James' immensely strong grip.

A deep growl erupted from James's throat as he pounded the shooters fist into the cold, concrete ground, increasing force with each thrust. The shooter's grip finally loosened and the knife slid from his grasp, clattering to the deck below. An elbow to the cheek sent James stumbling backward, nearly loosing his footing and tripping over the row of seats behind him. A solid fist to the throat sent James over the seats, his head smashing against the unforgiving floor. His vision blurred momentarily, nearly causing him to miss the muzzle pointed at him. He scrambled to the side, out of the kill zone, the bullet crushing the concrete just above his head. Another bullet nearly deafened him, landing just next to his ear. His head was pounding, his heart threatened to jump from his chest. Another thunderous bullet. Another near miss.

Then a harmless click.

James jumped to his feet, sending the knife deep into the shooter's side. The shooter reacted on instinct, swinging wildly with an arm, but completely missing James. As James dug the knife deeper, the shooter connected with a wild swing of the gun, knocking James' grip loose. The shooter's attention was focused on the knife in his side, and not on the man beside him. As the shooter began to remove the metal from his body, James climbed over the seats and tackled the man, his feral swinging of fists connecting with each shot. He grabbed a handful of hair on each side of the man's head and began pounding the back of his skull into the ground. The shooter had stopped moving seconds after the first untamed punches, but it didn't stop James. Tears brimmed his eyes, the motionless body of Andra first and foremost in his mind.

He didn't stop until his hands were slick with blood and sweat. Tears he hadn't even realized materialized streaked down his face. He fell back on his hunches, his body quivering. Deep sobs erupted, shaking his worn body to the core. He wanted to stand, but he couldn't. He wanted to go to her, but nothing seemed to cooperate. He could do nothing. He could do nothing, but sit, and let his emotions seep from him.


	21. The End

"The shooter was Henry Logan. He was second in command to the Assistant Director of the NCS." M looked over James with a careful eye, knowing even though the agent appeared as if his mind was somewhere else, he was still listening to every word she had to say. "A subsequent investigation into Logan's background and case work with Agent Norreys revealed Logan was failing to pass along information given to him by Norreys from the field, like he was supposed to do. There was never an official hit placed on President Zille. However, Logan wasn't nearly as disciplined in covering his tracks as you would believe."

"Mmm. So he set her up." Not a question, M noticed. But a statement.

"It seems so. However, we'll never know the full extent of Logan's betrayal of Agent Norreys. The CIA has decided to quit taking my phone calls regarding this case." James crossed his arms tightly across his chest, a subconscious move. Meant to make him feel protected, and keep the emotions he pushed back down inside where they belonged.

"Agent Norreys' rifle was the one Logan used to try to exterminate you. Before the friendly flow of information stopped, I learned the rifle was left behind in South America, after the assassination of President Zille. Standard protocol with Agent Norreys was to leave the rifle used during an order in the country where said order was executed, only to be picked up later by another CIA agent, and returned to her. It made escaping the country much easier." James nodded absently. "Surveillance at the train station where Ms. Norreys left her rifle in a storage locker showed Agent Logan retrieving the gun hours after Zille's assassination. That was not Agent Logan's job."

"So, he had this ending planed all along?"

"More than likely. Maybe he knew you and Agent Norreys would be able to escape every trap laid out. Maybe, he just wanted to keep the evidence for himself. Who knows. It's not as if we can ask him, now is it?" She didn't mean the last sentence to be snarky, or sound as if she was annoyed. It was just a simple statement. It was merely a thought that escaped her lips.

"Well, I could have asked him during our little meet, but he seemed interested in other things."

"I'm sorry about Ms. Norreys." M was sincere. She saw the look in his eyes when he repeated his accounts to her. The pain he felt was very real. As was her sincerity.

"Yeah." James said quietly, shifting his gaze downward.

"However, the fact her body was not recovered at the scene seemed to upset our friends across the pond enough to chose silence to my requests for answers."

"I wasn't going to leave her there." he hissed, his flash of anger unsettling her slightly. "They haven't completely exonerated her, have they?"

"Not until the conclusion of the investigation. Which, as I said before, will never be known to us."

"That's why I wasn't leaving her for them. Is there anything else?" M stared hard at him for a few moments before slowly shaking her head.

"No. But I suggest you take some time. Calm down a little before sending you on your next mission." He didn't argue, much to her surprise. He nodded once and turned on his heel, his strides long, his body ridged as he exited her office, allowing the door to shut quietly behind him.

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He laid on the hotel bed, his weight sinking comfortably into the soft mattress. He tossed the cell phone in the air, throwing it from one hand to the other. The room was quiet. The only sound was the blast of air as it streamed from the heater. He was tired, but didn't dare to sleep. He was hungry, but chose to stay where he was, resting his body and soul, and waiting. Patiently waiting.

Two months. He told M he wanted to be off for two months. No phone calls. No emails. No contacts. Nothing from MI6 for two months. She agreed, much too quickly, he thought, but was pleased, nonetheless.

The cell phone began to vibrate in his hand before the small chime of the ringer reached his ears. He checked the caller ID and smiled. The calling code told him the call was originating from the United Arab Emirates. She was right on time.

"I've been waiting for this call all day." Andra smiled at the sound of his voice on the other end. She ran a hand through her newly darkened hair, her muscle memory slow to catch up with the fact the long locks were no longer there, replaced with a fashionable bob.

"You have?" Hearing the smile in her voice spread his grin wider.

"I have. How are you feeling?" James asked, concerned with the bullet wounds she had suffered to her right thigh and the shot to her chest, which would have been fatal if Logan had only sent the bullet two centimeters to his right.

"I've had better days. The drugs are nice, though." James chuckled and switched the phone over to his left ear.

"So, Dubai?"

"Mmm, hmm. I still have plenty of friends within the Middle Eastern governments who are more than happy to take care of me. I'm set for life." James smiled and nodded, even though she couldn't see him.

"So, are you well enough for visitors?" He finally asked, his tone suggestive.

"I could be convinced in receiving visitors." she quipped back.

"I have two months off. I need time to grieve."

"Grieve, hmm?" she asked, chuckling. "I'm very disappointed you believe you can get over my death in two short months."

"Well, we'll just see how smooth the grieving process goes. And maybe I could convince another month out of my boss." The wide grin grew impossibly wider. Andra shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the smile never leaving her face.

"I'll see you when you get here."

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_**Okay, this is it folks. I thought I'd never be able to finish it. Lemmie know what you thought. It means a lot to me. Thanks to those who have stuck by me the whole time, especially Linwe Elendil and ChrisVIII.**_


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